Goblin Campaign

[LD]

Ah yes, those are the forums I was thinking of.

And oh, you are posting the story in full at Wizards- that is probably a better idea than what I was thinking; I was thinking you could save time by just posting a post that said "I'm writing a Joe Wood Style adventure here" and print out a small excerpt to entice readers, then maybe once a month mention that you have updated- or leave the thread for comments; or you could post the story but saying that "if you want to see the pictures, go here," it would save you some time and perhaps attract 3 or 4 new people to the CBG. I believe that GiTP etiquette allows that in the Arts/Crafts section or the Webcomics section of the site. I am not sure what Wizards' etiquette is.

--
I hope the player appreciated the change of pace. You were remarkably inventive with the tools you had! I am honored that my comments inspired something. And I am impressed by the level of detail you go into when setting up your games (determining which sort of creatures only attack at dawn.)

[Steerpike]

[ooc]Well, like I said, originally it was going to be krenshars (who have no particular attack patterns as written); I just basically stumbled onto teh bit about the worg's dawn proclivities.  But thank you, it was one of my more resourceful moments...[/ooc]

[Steerpike]

[ic=Episode 24: Vengeance]The raiding party are crouched about the huntsman's shack, splayed in tactical positions: Zetch and Mr. Pincer some ways from the clearing, guarding the ponies, the beasts surprisingly calm in the presence of the enormous ape-insect and its spidery puppetmaster; Xug the trog at one window, Wrask at the (locked) front door, Kraashgar at the second window.  Our hero emerged from the worg Svaroch's den having agreed to deliver the murderer of the creature's family in exchange for a dwarf hostage.  He thought, absently, of threatening to lob in the bomb he looted from the Gearhead caravan, but the detonation would endanger the dwarf: the threat would be hollow, and Svaroch would be intelligent enough to know it.

Thus they stand poised.  The cabin is small and squat, built of logs.  A thin trickle of smoke rises from the chimney.  A stump nearby had a large axe lodged in it: Kraashgar threw this into the woods.

The team agreed that he would be the ideal assassin, as the smallest and quietest of the five.  The window shutters are partially open; Kraashgar can reach through them.  Our hero unlatches the window and clambers inside, quietly as he can.  Idiot.  Why bother locking your front door if you're going to leave your window open?

Inside, the shack is adorned with worg-pelts and the hides of other animals.  A large crossbow leans next to the smoldering fireplace, with bolts quarrels hung on pegs above and around it.  A man slumbers in a cot in the corner, unshaven and grizzled-looking, snoring under another worg-pelt.

Kraashgar unsheathes his bone knife and creeps towards the sleeping huntsman, draped in the skins of Svaroch's kin.  Red dawn light filters into the room, as if anticipating the bloodshed to come.  Our hero places the knife against the human's stubbled throat, then stabs it in and wrenches hard.  There is a huge spray of arterial blood; the huntsman's eyes flicker open and he emits a choked cry.  Too much neck-fat!  Gotta really get this thing in there!

The man tries to batter the goblin off, but Kraashgar is relentless.  He twists the blade, removes it, stabs again, and again, till the human's arms go limp.  Kraashgar wipes the blade on the pelts.

Ugh.  Dead human.

The room smells of sweat and slaughter.   Kraashgar drags the huntsman out towards the door, pulling him out from under the pelts.  He wrinkles his nose in distaste: dead naked human.

No way to pull him through the window.  Kraashgar searches for a key, finds a leather purse and pockets its contents, including a small sum of gold.  He opens the door and drags the hefty, nude cadaver out into the forest.

'Bastard's nearly as hairy as I am!'  Wrask jokes.  The raiders regroup, head back towards the den.

Kraashgar drags the body down into Svaroch's lair.  The corpse is too big: he has to strain to pull it through, tugging on the man's hairy ankles.  When he turns around the worg is there, sitting on its haunches and watching him with beady red eyes, the Gearhead dwarf behind him, still bound.

'This is the guy, right?'  Kraashgar gestures to the dead huntsman.

'That's him,' Svaroch growls.  'I will feast on his flesh.'

'Well, a dish best served cold, or whatever.'

'Thank you, goblin.  Kraashgar.'

'Just doing my job.'

Our hero approaches the dwarf.  The Gearhead's eyes widen behind his goggles and he begins to flail, until Kraashgar puts a pistol to his temple and marches him out through the burrow; the dwarf has trouble squeezing his bulk through the opening.  Kraashgar hears messy chewing sounds as he exits the den, and doesn't look back.

The rest of the journey back to the Lair is uneventful.  The dawn sun is still sliver on the horizon when they return just in time to be spared the bright horrors of a surface day.

Inside, they are swiftly debriefed by Obraxus and Caustic, and their spoils taken to the armoury; Kraashgar is permitted to keep the pistol and bomb, though he gives up the waraxe and the light crossbow.

'Take the prisoner down to the cell-blocks, Kraashgar,' Caustic commands.  'We'll deal with him later.'

Our hero leads the dwarf down to level two, to the cell-blocks that precede the Gray Slaad Thollom's laboratory.  He shoves the dwarf into one of the empty cells and removes his gag; the dwarf begins to spit Dwarven curses, which Kraashgar ignores.

'I've been through a lot of crap to get you here,' Kraashgar says, drawing his bone dagger again, still flecked with the huntsman's blood.  'Nearly been killed three times, had to face down a worg that could have eaten me alive if I said the wrong thing, and got stinking human blood all over me.'

He approaches with the dagger.

'Ye gonna kill me, greenskin filth?'  The dwarf speaks in heavily accented Undercommon.  'Yer boss won't be too pleased bout that!'

'I'm not going to kill you,' Kraashgar tells him, smiling.

'I'm going to shave you.'[/ic]

[Nomadic]

'I'm not going to kill you,' Kraashgar tells him, smiling.

'I'm going to shave you.'

Did the player come up with that? Because that's brilliant.

[Steerpike]

[ooc]Kraashgar's dialogue is all the player's; I try to scribble down memorable lines.  If I can't remember exactly what he said i write the jist of it, but I don't fabricate.

And yeah its a fantastic line... I think the player has the right sense of humor for the role.[/ooc]

[Steerpike]

[ic=Episode 25: Who You Gonna Call?]After a meal and a rest, Kraashgar awakens and reports to Caustic in the map room; Obraxus is absent but the trog Morkoth is evident, talking quietly with the drow.  Here he is paid his first wages (two gold pieces) before receiving his newest assignment.

'We've got a spirit of some sort harassing denizens on level two, mostly messing about in the mess hall,' Caustic says, without looking up from the arcane map that dominates the chamber.  'I want you to get rid of it.  It can enter the Ethereal, so you'll need to borrow Thollom's Goggles of True Seeing.'

'Yes ma'a '" sir.'

Our hero shuffles out and heads up a level to Thollom's laboratory.  On his way he passes through the dungeon's cell block.  Brogg, the Gearhead hostage, begins to curse loudly in Dwarven as Kraashgar walks by, straining to reach the goblin with his arms.  Half of the dwarf's impressive beard has been shaved, and his eyebrows to boot; with half a beard he looks, if anything, more ridiculous than if he'd been fully shorn.  Kraashgar chuckles and heads into the mass of eldritch machinery that comprises the Gray Slaad's lair.

He picks his way over what look like scales as he searches for the spellcaster, eventually finding the creature hunched over an experiment, some odd fleshly thing strapped to a slab-like table.  The grig Kraashgar captured earlier is evident in a tube, suspended in green liquid, and the strange, blue lizard creature '" Thollom's familiar '" crouches in a corner, gnawing at an oddly shaped bone.

'Ah, Kraashgar was it?'  Thollom grins toothily.  'Not dead yet, I see.  Need something recharged?'

'Actually, I need to borrow those goggles again.  Caustic has me on exorcism duty.'

'Aha.  Well.  Those goggles are, ahem, quite delicate, you know, and'¦'

'Yeah yeah, quid pro quo or whatever.  What is it this time?'

'Well,' the Gray Slaad says, looking up from his experiment.  'Actually, I'm working on something quite new, and exciting, but I'm short on, ahem, parts.  I need you to go gather some for me.'

'What kind of parts?'

'Limbs, organs, tissues, that sort of thing.'  Thollom picks up a large birdcage and hands it to the goblin.  'Go to the crypts on the second level.  You know, beyond the broken doors?  You'll find a number of dwarven zombies there, contained by some wards Obraxus engraved, when he first moved into the stronghold.'  The Slaad fumbles in his robes and extracts a wand.  'Aim the wand at the zombies and press the button on the side.  It'll emit a spell-beam that will shrink the zombies down to size; then, capture four of them in the cage, and bring them here.'

'Alright.'  Kraashgar sighs in resignation and accepts the equipment, heading to the second level crypts.

He pauses in front of the shattered doors that lead down to the crypts; he's passed by them before, but never ventured beyond.  Tentatively he steps inside, over the meticulously inscribed glyphs that ward the crypt.  He heads down a flight of hewn stone steps, brushing aside cobwebs. He leaves footprints in the thick dust.

It is cold down in the crypts; Kraashgar shivers.  A sound that could be breath or wind whistling through ventilation shafts emanates from the darkness.  Kraashgar presses onwards, stealthy, wand clutched in one hand, cage in the other.  He comes to a bifurcation and selects the left-hand path, descending another flight of steps, deeper into the tomb.

He makes his way down a short passage and peers round a corner into a chamber beyond; a dwarf, cadaverous and putrid-smelling, shambles about the room slowly, shuffling in rotting boots, mail rusting, beard tangled and matted.  Two sarcophagi dominate the room.

Kraashgar enters and aims the wand, firing directly at the zombie.  A blaze of arcane light surrounds the zombie and the undead shrinks rapidly.  The creature's moans become higher pitched and dwarf zombie scuttles behind a sarcophagus.  Kraashgar scrambles around the sarcophagus, opening the cage.  The zombie hisses and lurches forward, grasping our hero's ankle.  It sinks its tiny teeth into his leg, drawing blood.  Kraashgar shrieks and grips the zombie round its torso, then hurls it into the cage, slamming shut the door.

He looks up.  Two more of the creatures have appeared, moaning, arms extended.  Rinse and repeat.

Kraashgar heaves off one of the sarcophagus covers.  Why bother with zombies?  Why not just bring back a corpse?  He zaps the well-preserved dwarf inside, wrapped in cerements, clutching a warhammer and garbed in mail, but when he deposits the body in the cage the other zombies swarm it and quickly devour it.

He investigates some of the surrounding chambers, discovering a desecrated crypt with a defiled sarcophagus, whose inhabitant's warhammer and helmet are missing.  He finds a final zombie and hastens back to Thollom's lab.

'Very nice specimens!'  Thollom proclaims, inspecting the still-reduced cage occupants.  'I'll take back that wand; here are the goggles.'  He hands them over.  'In fact'¦ well, Yoggshabboth needs a walk.  Yoggy?  Yoggy, come!'

The blue lizard suddenly materializes, as if out of thin air.  Thollom bends down and strokes his familiar's head.  Kraashgar notices that the Slaad is shedding scales from his clawed hand.

'Yoggy here is an Ethereal Marauder; he can jump into the Ether, and smell into it too.  He can help you track down this spirit.  Go, Yoggy!  Walkies!'[/ic] [ooc]Also - here's the player's excellent illustration:  

[/ooc]

[Steerpike]

[ic=Episode 26: Something Strange]Alright.  Time to find this spook and get rid of it.

Kraashgar heads down from Thollom's laboratory towards the mess hall and kitchens, the Ethereal Marauder Yoggshabboth '" Yoggy '" padding behind and making weird, high-pitched whining sounds.  They pass through the deserted dining area and into the kitchens.

An obese orc seems to be the cook: jowly and rotund, with a grease-stained apron and beady red eyes.  He stirs a simmering pot and pays Kraashgar and Yoggy little attention.

Kraashgar straps on the Goggles of True Seeing.  Through the tinted lenses he can now make out a strange, slimy substance on the floor and on some of the rusty kitchen implements '" ectoplasm!  Yoggy begins to whine and paw at Kraashgar; our hero dips his fingers in the goo (feeling only a slight sensation of cold) and puts them near the beast's head.  The Marauder sniffs the gelatinous ichor and warbles enthusiastically, then puts its head to the ground and begins to sniff.  Kraashgar follows Yoggy through the large kitchen, around counters and cauldrons, to the cellar door.  Yoggy flickers into the Ethereal without a second thought and steps through the door; the creature looks grey and insubstantial, but Kraahsgar can see it the goggles.  He opens the door and follows it through.

A flight of steps lead down into the cellar.  Yoggy is tracking the ghost, sniffing about barrels and kegs.  Suddenly it stops, then begins pawing and scrabbling at a large keg of ale.  Kraashgar steps closer, and the bung-hole for the ale shoots off, hitting him in the forehead!  Grog gushes out of the barrel in a jet of forthy liquid, followed closely by an incorporeal, gruff-looking dwarf, dressed in mail and gibbering in Dwarven with an eerie, unearthly voice.  The ghost snarls and shoots up through the ceiling, followed closely by Yoggy.

Drenched in grog, Kraashgar struggles to replace the cork and manages, with an effort, to stopper the flow.  Dripping and reeking of alcohol he heads back upstairs to the kitchen, then ducks as several silvery objects flit through the air towards him!  One grazes his ear, drawing blood; he looks back and sees no fewer than five kitchen knives, quivering in the cellar door, one of the flecked with goblin blood!

The dwarven spirit is running amok, Yoggy blinking in and out of the Ether and scrambling after it giddily.  It utters a blood-curdling scream that makes Kraashgar break out into gooseflesh, but he holds his ground.

The orc cook looks up, startled by the scream '" and then the ghost flies straight into his chest.  Yoggy, still whining madly, runs up to the orc and begins to snap at him.

'No, Yoggy!'  Kraashgar yells.  'Down!  Bad'¦ thing!'  His chiding has no effect; the Marauder continues to molest the orc.

The cook yelps and seizes a nearby cleaver from a chopping block.  Kraashgar shouts a protest but it is too late '" the orc is already bringing the cleaver down towards the beast mauling his thigh.  Just as he is about to connect Yoggy flickers into the Ethereal again, and the orc chops his own leg, screaming in pain!

Kraashgar seizes a now-material Yoggy and tries to pull it back, but the beast just switches back to the Ethereal.

A glazed expression passes over the orc's face.  He wrenches the cleaver from his leg, raises it, and looks towards Kraashgar, features contorting with rage!  The orc spits a Dwarven curse and the cleaver hurtles through the air; our hero dodges aside just in time and the weapon clatters to the ground.

All-Mother, he's possessed!

Now the cook has seized the steaming cauldron of stew by the handles, scalding his palms unthinkingly.  He hefts the cauldron and boiling liquid slops over the rim.

'Spirit!'  Kraashgar yells in Undercommon.  'Listen to me!  I want to help you!  I want to lay your soul to rest!'

Something in the goblin's voice must be persuasive '" or perhaps he just said the thing the ghost wanted to hear.  In any event, the orc replaces the cauldron over the flame, and the glazed look leaves his eyes.  The dwarf ghost drifts out of the humanoid's chest, looks at Kraashgar, and beckons before passing through the kitchen wall and out into the main hall.  Yoggy looks as if it will follow but Kraashgar commands it to 'Stay!' and this time the creature obliges.[/ic]

[Ghostman]

How are you coming up with all these names? It seems that there's some Lovecraftian alienism going on. When I saw Yoggshabboth I immediately thought it was a corruption of Yog-Sothoth...

[LD]

In Episode 25 I really appreciated how you brought back images of the dwarf and the grig when the goblin visited the Sladd's residence.

Your player's drawing is also very nice- very vibrant and active... Whereas your illustrations are like classic 1970s/80s DnD, your player's illustrations are more like early 2000's 3d Edition.

[Steerpike]

[ooc][blockquote=Ghostman]How are you coming up with all these names? It seems that there's some Lovecraftian alienism going on. When I saw Yoggshabboth I immediately thought it was a corruption of Yog-Sothoth...[/blockquote]It's meant to be a sort of roundabout allusion to Yog and the Great Old Ones, yeah; combined with the dog-like aspects of Yoggy I thought it might be funny.  I generally pick brutish-sounding names for orcs (Grognash, Morbog), harsh, raspy-sounding ones for gnolls (Wrask), Nordic-sounding ones for dwarves (Brogg, Ulfgar), and generally "odd" sounding names for everyone else; surface dwellers get boring names that sound mundane to our ears (Kenneth).

[blockquote=Light Dragon]In Episode 25 I really appreciated how you brought back images of the dwarf and the grig when the goblin visited the Sladd's residence.

Your player's drawing is also very nice- very vibrant and active... Whereas your illustrations are like classic 1970s/80s DnD, your player's illustrations are more like early 2000's 3d Edition.[/blockquote]Yeah, his are much brighter, and tend to have more motion in them, whereas mine tend to be obsessively detailed and fairly dark.  I'm principally trying to imititate Mike Mignola's style, particularly images like this one, where faces and forms emerge from thick darkness, kind of a pulpy chiaroscuro effect, to be pretentious and artisy about it.  The players are much less angular, much more rounded and blended, with soft shadows and gentle shading.[/ooc]

[Steerpike]

[ic=Episode 27: Gather Information]Yoggy and Kraashgar leave the kitchen and walk out into the main hall; the dwarf's shade hovers amongst the vast, rune-etched pillars, mute and expectant.

'Go back to Thollom, Yoggy,' Kraashgar tells the Ethereal Marauder.  'Go on.'  The creature whimpers, then scuttles off towards the lab, blinking into the Etehreal to pass through doors and walls.

'Alright, ghost, what do I need to do to help you move on?'

The spirit is silent.  It tugs on its beard and then beckons again; our hero follows, resolute.

They head towards the broken doors and the old dwarven crypts, where Kraashgar captured the zombies for the Gray Slaad.  Kraashgar follows the dwarf into the gloom and cobwebs, shivering slightly as he treads over the runic wards once again.

The shade leads him to the desecrated crypt and points to the skeleton within.  Kraashgar steps up to the sarcophagus and looks inside.

'My name was Ulfgar, in life,' the ghost says, speaking in Undercommon.  Its voice is otherworldly, full of sepulchral echoes.  'I was interred here with three things of great value '" my warhammer, Grumma; my helm; and a signet ring, bearing my clan's sigil, the gear.

'Another goblin '" one of your ilk '" ventured down here, to my grave, with other thieves.  They defiled my tomb and stole these three items.'  Ulfgar's ghost gnashes its teeth.  'The filthy greenskin!  Fitting, perhaps, that one of your kind would seek to lay my soul to rest, after your kindred disturbed me in the first place.'  It chuckles.  'Return the three things to my grave and replace the lid.'  Ulfgar nods to the sarcophagus seal.  'Then my soul will be at rest.

'Very well,' Kraashgar responds with uncharacteristic somberness.  He leaves the crypt hurriedly, before he stumbles upon any zombies.

Now to find the three items.  Ulfgar emphasized that the tomb-raider was goblinoid: that should narrow it down.

Kraashgar heads to some of the nearby guardrooms and then to the mess hall searching for another goblinoid minion.  He finds a goblin in the mess, quaffing a mug of fungus ale and playing cards with a troglodyte.  Kraashgar gets a tankard, ignoring the limping cook's dirty looks.  He recognizes this minion '" a creature named Skabrat, known to be an exorbitant gambler.  Kraashgar himself has lost coins to him.

'Skabrat,' Kraashgar says.  'Uh, you ever go down to the crypts?'

'Yeah, sure,' the goblin says casually, affecting nonchalance.  'Me and some other guys sneak in there sometimes after shifts.  There's not much down there, just some rusty old crap buried with the dwarves.  And zombies. Ugh.  Not worth it.'

'Right.  You ever bring anything back from these'¦ excursions?'

'Like I said, just some dusty stuff they were buried with.'

'A warhammer?'

'Sure, I think so.  Really heavy thing.'

'How about a ring?  Or a helm?'

'Yeah, probably.  Sounds familiar.  Why?'

'Long story.  Do you still have that stuff?'

'Nah, its all gone.  The warhammer I think I turned in to Kurlok.  The helm and the ring I lost gambling.'

'To who?'

'Gods, Kraashgar, I don't know.'

'Try and remember.'

Skabrat strains, looking up at the ceiling with his one remaining eye.  'Let me think.  I think some gnoll got the helm, buddy of Wrask's, and a drow guy got the ring.  Don't remember his name, elves all look the same to me, ya know?'

'Sure, whatever'¦ thanks, Skabrat.'

Kraashgar finishes his ale and heads to the armoury, in search of the kobold weaponmaster, Kurlok.  Eventually he finds the reptile taking inventory on the new cache of firearms he and the other raiders captured from the Gearhead caravan.

'Kurlok, you keep records of all the weapons that're signed out right?'

'Sure.  Look, I'm busy, so this had better be important.'

'Caustic's orders.  I need to check your records for anyone who signed out a dwaren warhammer.'

'Fine,' the kobold says, exasperated.  'Come on.'  He takes Kraashgar to a small chamber lined with shelves stacked with sheaves of vellum and begins rummaging through, humming through his teeth.  Eventually he turns up a tattered scrap of parchment.

'Looks like an orc named Morbog signed out a weapon like that awhile ago,' Kurlok says, squinting at the crabbed scrawl on the parchment.  'You'll have to talk to him.'

'Ugh.  This is getting complicated'¦'[/ic]

[Steerpike]

[ic=Episode 28: An Exorcism and a Game of Chess]Kraashgar finds the orc Morbog in the mess hall, dining with a couple of similarly burly denizens.  The orc is massive: huge and green, veins straining on his neck, face scarred and brutal-looking, with tusk-like teeth and fierce red eyes.  Our hero gulps and walks up to the orc.  He notices the creature's weapon: a massive warhammer, graven with Dwarven runes.

'You Morbog?'

The orc stands up, towering over Kraashgar.

'That's me.  What'd you want, pipsqueak?'

'I need your warhammer,' Kraashgar says, puffing up his chest a bit.  'Dungeon business.'

'Heh.  I'll give you a taste of it if you don't bugger off.'

'It's not your weapon, it's Obraxus'.'  Kraashgar stands his ground.

Morbog reaches down and takes Kraashgar by the throat, holding the goblin in front of his meaty, scarified face.  His breath reeks.

'Give me one good reason why I shouldn't squeeze your little head off right now and use your skull for a drinking goblet, you piece of wormshit.'

'You'll give me that warhammer,' Kraashgar gasps, his eyes bulging buggishly.  'Or Caustic will have your guts for garters.  I'm acting under her direct orders, you oaf.'

'What?'  Morbog drops the goblin to the ground.  'You didn't say that drow bitch was involved.  Fine, here.'  He holds out the warhammer.  'Take the damn thing.'

Kraashgar hefts the warhammer and leaves the mess hall amidst whispers and murmurs.  He thinks he hears the word 'balls.'

Grumma is too heavy to haul around, so Kraashgar heads back to the crypts with it. He places the warhammer over Ulfgar's skeletal corpse and the dwarf's ghost materializes.  'Not enough,' the spirit moans.  'The helm and the ring!  I need them as well.'

'I'm working on it, I'm working on it.'

He heads out, but as he turns, he sees that he has company.  A dwarf zombie and a skeleton lumber towards him, stumbling on decrepit limbs.  Kraashgar swears and bolts forwards, dodging around them and down the tomb's passages back towards the broken doors.  He finds another zombie lingering near the entrance, blocking the stairway up.

'Screw this.'  Our hero draws his pistol, aims, and blows the undead creature's head into gray smithereens.  He blows smoke from the barrel and holsters the flintlock.

Now the helm.

Kraashgar seeks out Wrask the gnoll, finding the creature on the third level, guarding the map room.

'How's it going, Kraashgar?' the gnoll asks, followed by his characteristic, incongruous chortle.

'Eh, it's okay.  I'm fixing a ghost problem on level two.  Say, do you know a gnoll who might have won a helm off Skabrat?'

'Yeah, I think so.  Dwarven thing, pointy horns?  That'd be Russkit.  He, uh, got killed by those Gearhads on the raid.'

'Damn.  I need that helmet'¦'

'Well, he didn't have it with him when he died.  Didn't fit; he just liked the thing.  I think he might have used it for a chamber pot, heheh.'

'You know where he bunked?'

'Yeah, the barracks on this level, second bunk on the left.'

'Thanks.  How bout a drow who might have won a ring off Skabrat?'

'Dunno about that one, but there aren't many drow here.  It's probably Szor; he's on guard duty down on level four.'

'Thanks again.'

Kraashgar seeks out the third level barracks and checks under the second bed on the left.  No sign of the helmet, but there's a chest at the foot of the bed '" locked.  Our hero performs a thorough search of the rest of the chamber but finds no sign of a key or the helmet.  He swears in frustration and clomps up the stairs back to level two in search of Skabrat.

The goblin is dicing with the kobold trapsmith, Skelus, when Kraashgar finds him.

'Hey, need your help, Skabrat.  You can handle a lock, right?'

'Sure.  What's in it for me?'

'Ugh.'  Kraashgar doesn't feel like intimidating the goblin.  Too much confrontation for one day; no sense in alienating everyone.  'A gold piece, okay?'  Half a week's wages, but then again Kraashgar's purse is heavy after the raid.

'Wow, okay, sure.  Come on, show me where this lock is.'

They head down to the barracks again and Skabrat jimmies the lock swiftly with a bone toothpick.  Inside is the helm '" and a bag of gems.  Kraashgar takes the helm and prepares to leave, but Skabrat seizes the gem-bag.

'Alright!  Bonus,' the little goblin exclaims.

'Come on, leave those alone,' Kraashgar says.

'No way!  The guy's dead, let's take them!'  Skabrat squeaks '" just as another pair of gnolls burst into the barracks.

'Oi!  What are you doin with those jools?'

'Uh'¦ nothing guys'¦'  Skabrat is sweating profusely.  Kraashgar slips away as the gnolls close in, already laughing.  Our hero waits for Skabrat in the corridor and a few moments later the goblin emerges, bruised and without the gems.  He limps grumpily away down the passage, ignoring Kraashgar's 'I told you so' expression.

Just the ring remaining.  Kraashgar heads down to the fourth level and searches the guard-rooms, stumbling into a room full of statues (courtesy of a former occupant, a medusa), and a room with a twisted-lookg tree before eventually finding a male drow and an ogre, playing chess at a round table.

'Hey, you Szor?'

'That's me,' the drow says snootily.  'What do you want, goblin'

'That ring of yours.  I need it to get rid of a ghost.  It used to belong to him, and now he's haunting level two.  Caustic's orders.'

'I see your predicament.  However, it's not my problem.  I won this ring fair and square, and I doubt Caustic would favor you over me.'

'I need that ring.'

'How about this: wait till I've finished this match, and then we play for the ring.'

'Alright.'

Kraashgar watches as Szor finishes off his ogre opponent handily.  The dark elf smiles and gestures for Kraashgar to join them at an empty stool.  The goblin seats himself and the drow explains the rules of the game.

'What will you wager?  That ring of your own?'

'No.  My pistol.  That should be valuable enough.'

'Very well.'

Predictably, Szor beats Kraashgar handily.  However, he quickly discovers that the pistol is unloaded '" Kraashgar emptied it when he shot the zombie back in the crypts.

'I'll play you again, for the ammunition.'

'Fine.'

The second match is a stalemate.  The third, Kraashgar wins '" he gets the ring.  They play a fourth and Kraashgar reclaims his pistol, again using the ammunition as stakes.

'Damn you and your underhanded tricks!'  Szor swears, overturning the chess-board.  He stomps off, nose in the air.  The ogre laughs resoundingly.

'That was impressive.  Haven't seen Szor so pissed in a long time, heheh.'

Kraashgar smiles and heads up to the crypt, to finish things.  He puts the helm back on Ulfgar's skull and slips the ring on his finger; the ghost manifests itself.

'Thank you, goblin.  I am'¦ at peace now.'  The dwarf squints.  'Perhaps my people have been unfair to your kind.  I might not have said so in life, but such prejudices seem to matter less now, somehow.  Good luck.'  The ghost fades, and is gone.

Kraashgar turns to head out.  He walks down the short passage into the main sanctum of the crypts '" and finds a room full of corporeal undead.

Crap.[/ic][ooc]We played out several of the chess matches.  The final match we resolved with an opposed Intelligence test (Kraashgar's Int 12 - the only attribute I raised from the goblin average, to allow him to speak two languages - and Szor's Int 13 meant they were evenly matched).

This plot has been the most improvised since the first few episodes, but I'm pretty happy with the way it turned out... Kraashgar leveled up (level three warrior now), took ranks in jump and chose the dodge feat during the session that comprised the last few episodes.

Also, the player read the bit below about what I'd have done if he hadn't won the matches and produced this:[spoiler]

[/spoiler][/ooc]

[LD]

What do you think would have happened if Kraashgar had lost the matches?

[Steerpike]

[ooc]Possibly I would have improvised some sort of sub-quest for the drow in exchange for the ring (but maybe not the rest of his stuff).  Off the top of my head: steal something from a dungeon denizen, retrieve an item that fell through the illusory floor, arrange a date with Caustic.

Alternatively, Kraashgar could try to steal the ring, but he'd obviously be incriminated, which could lead to sticky situations.

Also:

[/ooc]

[Steerpike]

[ic=Episode 29: Meanwhile'¦]Alastor the tiefling, bounty hunter and assassin, crouches in the shadows of an alley in the town of Gloamwood, one hand on his blade as a member of the town militia passes by, swaggering drunkenly through pools of yellow light cast from an open alehouse door.  The planetouched lets out a breath as the man is swallowed by the night, then ventures out into the street.

A cloak covers his horns; his flesh has been tinted with an Alter Self spell.  He creeps with the utmost stealth towards the eastern edge of the town, pointed ears pricked for any sign of trouble.  There is no formal curfew in Gloamwood, but the watch have been jumpy and tend to question passersby late at night, especially outsiders.

He's been in Gloamwood for two days, after being contacted by an old associate '" the Ogre Mage Obraxus the Accursed.  A simple enough job, really '" travel to the Overworld, infiltrate the human settlement of Gloamwood, assassinate the mayor and the captain of the watch, and eliminate the guards at the northern gate.  Then raise the portcullis, unbar the doors, and leave quietly.  The pay was decent '" five hundred crowns of dwarven gold.  Not bad for an evening's work.

He'd taken a room at the Duskhaven Inn, an old, antiquated sort of establishment in the middle of town.  A quick poke around the town hall's archives late at night had produced records and a map of the town '" enough information to find and remove his targets.

First up was the mayor.  His house was a three-story manse near the eastern gate, much larger and more ornate than most of the buildings in Glaomwood.  Alastor crept towards it now, red eyes peeled for guards.  The mayor was reputedly a paranoid man, grown corpulent on tax-money and spendthrift adventurers.

The main door would be locked, and far too exposed to make a stealthy entrance, but the tiefling can see an open window on the third floor, lit with a sputtering paraffin lamp.  He smiles, then begins mouthing the syllables of a Spider Climb spell.  He removes his thick leather gloves, rubs his hands together to ward off the autumn chill, and approaches the mayor's home surreptitiously, creeping on drow-made Boots of Elvenkind, then lays his hands against the plastered walls and begins his ascent.  A few moments later he has dropped soundlessly into a small library on the top floor.  He heads to the door and opens it softly.

Two doors and a corridor leading to a flight of stairs.  He tries the door on his left and finds en empty bedroom, curtains of a four-poster bed undulating in the slight wind.  He listens at the second door and hears the sound of a quill scratching on parchment, then opens the door cautiously and tiptoes inside.

A bald, portly man in his middle years is crouched over a writing desk with his back to the door.  The room looks like a study '" a well-furnished room with a globe, a marble bust (Alastor thinks it's of the man in the chair), and a few more bookshelves.  A half-empty decanter of wine sits on the desk next to a goblet, from which the man takes a swig.  The tiefling draws his short sword and approaches the scribbling mayor.  He clamps a hand round the man's mouth and reaches round to stab the mayor in the chest, hard.  The man emits a muffled cry and struggles, bumping the desk and upsetting the goblet.  Alastor stabs again, and the man goes still.
The tiefling hears footsteps '" a guard!  He rushes to the door and closes it gently, then glides back over to the mayor and positions him so that he is slumped forward with his head against the desk.  He pours some of the wine on the mayor's clothing in hopes of disguising the blood, then hurries over to the door, positioning himself so that if it opens he will be behind it.

The footsteps grow loud and a light appears under the door; it swings open and a liveried man with a sword in his belt peers in, frowning.

'Mayor?  You alright?'  He lifts a lamp.  'Heh.  The old sot's drunk himself into a stupor.  He'll feel that one tomorrow morning'¦'  The guard turns and leaves.

Alastor lets out a breath, then slips out the study's window, back into the night.  With any luck the mayor's murder won't be discovered till morning, when it'll be too late.  He heads towards the walls, not far from the manse itself.  His spell is still in effect: he scales the walls with minimal difficulty.

Alastor creeps along the old stone parapets, alert in case a militia member happens along.  He comes to northeast watchtower and creeps up a flight of spiral steps to listen at the door.  A conversation is audible.

''¦hear about those adventurers went up the mountains to slay that damn Ogre Mage?'  One voice says.

'Yeah, haven't come back yet though,' another replies.  'Probably dead, like the rest.'

'Most likely.  I hear there's another party coming to town.  Supposed to be more experienced; spent sometime in the Great Below, if tales are to be believed.  Real hard types.  Mayor wants them on special contract, what with all the raids on caravans an' such.'

'Huh.  Hey, is the captain around?  I smuggled a wineskin up but I don't want that curmudgeon catching me purple-mouthed.'

'I think he's in the southeast tower, chewing out some new recruit who fell asleep on watch.  Hey, pass that wineskin here'¦'

Alastor chuckles and turns back along the wall, towards the southeast tower.  He recasts Spider Climb and circumvents the east gate by crawling along the outside of the wall, under the guards' noses, then approaches the tower.  He can hear someone yelling and swearing loudly within, and position himself to one side of the door.  A minute later the yelling ceases and the door bursts open as a huge, burly man exits.  Alastor can hear shuffling inside the room '" the new recruit, most likely.  He can't get behind the watch captain '" presumably the broad-shouldered man '" while the recruit could be watching, potentially ready to raise an alarm.  He waits till the captain is out of earshot and turns into the room, sword draw.  The recruit is sharpening his blade on a whetsone; Alastor sneaks up and makes short work of him, then climbs the spiral staircase inside the tower to the top, readying his bow as he does so.  He removes a vial of poison from his belt and applies a venomous liquid to the tip of an arrowhead, then aims towards the captain, now some distance along the wall-walk.  He looses the shaft and catches the man in the neck; the captain staggers and collapses, slipping from the wall altogether.

Now for the northern gatehouse.  Alastor hurries along the wall as swiftly and quietly as he can; time is beginning to run out.  He uses his eldritch climbing abilities to sneak around the tower to the side of the guard at the gatehouse door and cuts the man's throat, then lays the corpse against the wall.  There are two more guards atop the gatehouse, the tiefilng knows; he casts Ghost Sound to produce the aural illusion of snoring.

'Did Murray fall asleep again?'  He hears one of the guards say.

'Go check, wake the bastard up.  If the captain finds out he's asleep on the job there'll be hell to pay.'

Alastor waits for the door to open and incapacitates the other guard.  The remaining guards follow; he snipes one guarding the gate itself through a murder-hole inside the gatehouse, then piles the bodies in a small armory.  As he is finishing up the door slams open and yet another guard enters the gatehouse.

'Oi!  What's all this then?!'  The man yells, drawing his longsword.  'Guards, guards!'  He runs to strike the alarm-gong; Alastor intercepts him.

The two spar, blades clashing.  The guard slashes the assassin across the chest while parrying the tiefling's blows, but then Alastor feints and lunges fast, running the man through.  The guard gurgles and dies.

Twitching his cloak away from the spreading pool of blood Alastor winches back the portcullis and heads down to the ground level to unbar the gate, then removes a small, glyph-etched bloodstone from his pocket.

'Alright Obraxus,' he whispers.  'Everything's taken care of.'[/ic] [ooc]For much of this session I played this music - I also used it when Kraashgar was hunting the grig in the ventillation tunnels.[/ooc]