Part 1: Tentacle face guy
With the aid of Sir Marshall, our intrepid adventurers Evaron, Khitaro, Nit the Changer, Siralos and Storm battled their way through Tal Lorvas’ improvised headquarters. They fought life-leeching wights, sword- and firewielding skeletons, ice cold zombies and a hulking zombie monstrosity (who packed one hell of a punch, nearly flattening Nit). And so, they ended up finally facing the man himself; a tall, bald and slightly silly necromancer with tentacles taped to his face, to make himself resemble an illithid. Or an octopus, who knows.
After a somewhat fierce battle, he was defeated. He fled through a portal, Sir Marshall hot on his heels. The portal closed before our adventurers could follow. With Tal Lorvas gone, the undead army literally crumbled around the party’s feet.
Before anyone could catch their breath, Nit had grabbed the spoils left by Mr. Lorvas. She was persuaded to hand them over, and gems and gold coins alike were handed out. Besides the shinies, they found a mysterious ring, the color of ashes, and a set of papers. The ring holds some sort of divine power, but is apparently dormant at the moment. Siralos currently has it tucked safely away somewhere on his metallic and wooden body. The papers were just as mysterious. Filled with the ramblings of a madman, written in something disconcertingly alike human blood, it revealed little. But they did get one thing from the papers: the word “Allswell” kept appearing. Hints of another hideout in the city of Allswell was enough to send them on their way.
But not before resting at the local inn, of course. At the Small Pig’s Tail (for that was the inn’s name), they were greeted by a pleasant young man. He invited Siralos to play a hand of cards with him, and he grudgingly accepted the challenge. With his own inhuman guile and the some “help” from Storm, they almost managed to get their hands on alot of money. But before they could finish, a strange woman sat down at the table, promptly won the entire pot, and took off. This left them slightly perplexed and a little poorer, so they decided to turn in.
Evaron, apparently the only relatively normal person of the lot, bought a room. Storm camped just outside the city, too greedy to pay the very reasonable price for a room a the inn. He would regret this choice of location. Siralos, on the other hand, simply asked the innkeeper if he could borrow a closet. After promising to not leave any stains, he was shown to one, stepped in and powered down. Khitaro simply drank himself into a stupor, falling into a drunken sleep on a bench. Nit was nowhere to be found.
As I suggested earlier, Storm would regret not resting at the inn. As it were, he was subject to a rude awakening. An awakening involving a a tip of a sword resting on his throat, and a band of mexican (that’s right, mexican) desperados. They grabbed his clothes, armor and precious sword (which, unbeknownst to the them, was cursed) and took off. Needless to say, Storm was furious. He rushed to the inn, waked his companions (the ones he could find, anyway. Nit was still gone) and explained the situation to them. They rushed after the desperados, Khitaro thrown over Storm’s shoulder. The desperados’ tracks were easy to find and, luckily enough, on the road going to Allswell.
After half a days ride, they came upon a gruesome sight. More than a dousin mexican men, presumably the desperados from earlier, lay in the middle of the road, dead to a man. Closer inspection revealed that they had not killed each other. It looked as if they had been taken by surprise, cut down before they could use their superior numbers to their advantage. Some of them had clearly been trying to flee when they were killed. Amid the carnage, Storm found all his belongings. Except for his sword. Tracks led away from the field of mayhem, but not, as they might have hoped, toward Allswell. The tracks, those of a single human, lead towards the small town of Ashenport. As the adventurers approached the town, they were assailed by a terrible storm. Black, ominous clouds rushed in from the sea, quickly turning day into night. The whipping rain felt like needles on their skin and the cold, howling wind numbed them to their bones. But ahead lay hope. Hope and shelter. A few, orange lights appeared in the darkness, just a few hundred meters away. They pressed on through the storm, wading through what appeared to be a veritable river of mud. As they entered the town, the wind eased a little, but the downpour was still breathtaking.
More to come soon.