Meta Ruins of Myvolia

Cora - ....

Cora grabs Terrance by the arm firmly.

Terrance this isn’t a game nor is it going to be pleasant. You are going to have to hold fast as these Wight run through this town as our companions try with all their might to fend them off and we can’t do a thing but watch and wait. We must wait for the little girl to decide to make her move and when she does we will make our and it has to be fast and accurate. Cause if we fail our companions will certainly follow. There won’t be time for foolish sentiment here. Our goal is simple stop the little girl. nothing else.

Cora releases Terrance’s arm and heads for the nearest exit.

Now they will be upon is soon we need to hide ourselves and wait.


Waiting for T’alen………..tap tap tap goes my toe.

Terrence hears what Cora says and he believes the plan has good logic behind it. Having little faith in the company is a bit disheartening but she has seen these creatures battle and trusts she knows what she speaks and is planning for worst case.

Yes, of course, I am with you little one. You would surely die without my help (winks) and I can’t have that weighing on me. I am waiting here for T’alen to figure out what these items are and to see if any are magical. I will grab what I can to aid us. Give me a short time to grab my belongings and some supplies and I will vanish. Name a place and I will meet you there halfling.

As Terrence and Cora discuss where to meet a cold thought runs through his head.

What if I fall? Will these hell beasts know the Companies plan as I do now?

Shivers run up Terrences’ spine as images of the creatures avoiding the traps and slaughtering unsuspecting friends and allies.

Terrance places his hand on the shoulders of the small halfling.

I have risked the lives of our group by telling you the plans of the company and their allies, as you have risked yours by telling me. If we do this, we have to ensure that neither one of us will fall to the beasts, and if that means one of us putting an arrow into the others brain, so be it. Just dont be too hasty lil one.

Terrence lets that soak in.

If Cora still decides this is the best course of action then Terrence will prepare. Terrence will grab some white fletched arrows (quiver worth), holy symbols (2) and holy water and any scrolls he figure would be helpful, if possible. Load up all his belongings and leave a note saying he simply doesn’t want to die and is very afraid and had to leave.

A Night in Veniset 3
There will be blood


Veniset: The Church

The women and children of Veniset settled amidst the pews of the church, huddling beneath their blankets and offering reassuring words to one another. Terrence dispatched a young boy to bring T’alen while Talton and the vicar returned to the cellar for another armload of weapons and armour.

Veniset: The Town Square

The bitter wind howling from the east carried with it a bone-numbing cold stolen from the iceberg infested waters of Bangle Bay. It howled down on Veniset with a fury, driving the falling snow nearly sideways, cutting through heavy clothing in its search for the warm essence of life. In this way, the wind was a perfect analogy for the deadly doom that lurked nearby, presumably awaiting its chance to fall upon the village and wrest the fire of life from all that live there.

Sebastian rubbed the numbness out of his fingers. For a time he wandered the town square, offering the fortifying gift of his song to those that toiled to build the defences. The music helped to galvanize all who heard it, bringing to them a confidence and pride that urged them to greater speed. Near the bonfire at the centre of the square the bard came upon Matrim.

The ranger was surveying the work pensively. There was much more that he would like to see done, but the men were tired and half frozen and with night falling quickly there was little else that would be accomplished.

At all entrances to the town square six foot barricades had been erected. Trip lines and grease puddles had been set beyond the perimeter where they were quickly hidden by the snow. Two rickety bridges had been built between the stone church and the buildings flanking it. Archers stood on the roof tops and men with spears and pitchforks, dressed in whatever piecemeal armour had been passed down through the generations of their families, tended to the barricades.

The doors of the church opened and a boy of about ten ran forth, clutching his lambskin cloak tightly. He paused, scanning the square and the gathered men before settling his sight on T’alen who was warming himself by the bonfire. As the boy crossed the square he passed in front of a half dozen men bundled tightly against the cold.

As the boy hustled to give a message to T’alen, Matrim’s eyes settled on the men that he had just passed. Little enough could be seen of them, dressed as they were. Only the eyes could be seen from under their hoods and above the thick scarves wrapped about their necks. It was one man, set apart from the others that caught Matrim’s attention. The man was edging towards those nearer the bonfire. A queer feeling filled Matrim and for a moment he almost dismissed the misgivings that tingled across his skin. It was then he realized the nature of his apprehension: Around each of the men in the square a mist issued about their heads as their hot breath met the cold air… all of the men except the one who was moving purposefully towards where T’alen stood listening to the boy, perhaps forty feet away. From that man, no breath was expelled and no warmth yet lingered. As the light of the bonfire cast across his visage, Matrim could see two eyes burning with hatred, driven to a maddening urge to snuff out life and fill the world permanently with the coldness of the grave.

The Logging Camp

Ulof’s men, bewildered at first quickly found their anger, scooping up axes and pics they crowded around their outraged master. The menacing pack began moving towards Alma and Lornaal, fanning out in a broad line.

Alma placed a restraining hand upon Lornaal. The Thent was taught and ready for action.

Ulof, I don’t want to waste my powers this night slaughtering your men. I have undead to kill! You fight the Thent 1 on 1. If you lose your men accompany us to Veniset and help defend the town. I am sure the town council will arrange some form of compensation for the damage I have caused and your help…

Ulof choked out a scornful laugh.

If you have been sent here by the the elders of Veniset, then I shall have my compensation and more. First, however, I will take your skins to shelter from this storm.

The sound of Torngrin turning his horses and urging them down the snowy trail caused both Alma and Lornaal to glance behind them. The man was mounted, leaning low in the saddle, the leads of the trailing horses clutched in his gloved hand. He shouted desperate encouragement as the three great steeds plowed through the drifts.

Turning back to the loggers, the two members of the Company of the Manticore found Ulof sneering at them.

Kill ’em both.

Initiative Order:

Cora - .........

There is no time to explain my reason for disappearing just trust it was in the best interest of myself and the company. I am going to need your help if my plan is going to succeed. I am also going to have to ask that you abandon the group. They need to believe you ran away the same as I did. The company MUST not think your lurking about. The Wight have displayed some memory of they past life and if we are too succeed we can not have the company know we are here, should they be turned we will certainly fail. We have to kill the little girl that is controlling this army of wight. There isn’t much time to explain, I need your help. Will you join me?

Cora waits for Terrance reply in the shadow and would hope Terrance would do the same as not to draw attention should anyone notice.

Alma - Was I to Harsh :)

Alma holds his hand up to stay Lornaals Attack.

Ulof, I don’t want to waste my powers this night slaughtering your men. I have undead to kill! You fight the Thent 1 on 1. If you lose your men accompany us to Viniset and help defend the town. I am sure the town council will arrange some form of compensation for the damage I have caused and your help…

Alma doesn’t bother offering terms for if Ulof wins…

Init: Roll(1d20)6:

Lornaal - Picking a fight
Perhaps Alma has lost his mind? Oh, well.

Lornaal follows Alma’s lead as he first leaves the main building and crosses to the horses. It is only as the Cyonian is lighting the torches that a dim realization begins to dawn on the Thent. Despite a growing misgiving, Lornaal follows Alma, trusting to the other man’s designs.

Without a word he helps set fire to the camp buildings and watches warily as the loggers boil out into the blizzard. Clutching the shaft of his spear in his left hand, Lornaal checks the haft of his axe to make sure that it is free to be drawn rapidly.

There will be blood and death here. He thinks to himself, noting the size and number of the loggers. The great bear in his chest stirs. Much death.

Lornaal will throw his spear at the first armed enemy to approach and then will draw his axe.

Initiative: 12(d20) + 3 = 15
Attack: 14(d20) + 9 – 4 (range) = 19
Damage: 5(d8) + 7 = 12

The Logging Camp
Do or die


Ulaf runs his thick fingers through the beard that extends over his barrel chest to the paunch of his stomach. His deep-set eyes are keen and merry, though there is an edge below the surface that speaks of a terrible temper. The men sit quietly as their master listens to Alma’s words. None seem willing to brook the Grewhainian’s displeasure by interrupting.

Alma speaks, noting the sound of horses (and their stench) coming from an adjoining part of the building.

I wish for all our sakes that this was some figment of my imagination… But as much as I wish this nightmare where mine alone that is not the case. I have watched as people who fell to these beasts twitched and rose to attack people they called friends moments before. They multiply by killing, and they kill with brutal efficiency. You can not remain here…

The humour saps from Ulaf’s eyes as he slams his meaty fist upon the table.

You do not tell Ulaf Garthson what he can and can not do. I have surely seen worse than what you now speak of. My men and I are safe here. We have keen blades and strong arms to wield them. If the folk of Veniset need our help, they had best send someone who can negotiate the terms of our assistance. If that is not you, then I offer you a cup of wine and a rest by the fire before you must go.

Ulaf takes up his tankard and drains it quickly, holding it up so that a tall, scrawny lad who could be his son or nephew rushes to refill it from a large pitcher. The noise in the building quickly grows again as several conversations erupt from fifteen bearded throats, filling the ramshackle building with laughter and rough language.

Alma turns from the table, ignoring the offered hospitality and stalks towards the door, Ulaf’s wary eye watching him darkly as he goes. At the door Lornaal turns to duck after Alma, stepping once more into the biting winter wind.

Blinking snow out of his eyes, Alma moves quickly to where Torngrin stands with the horses. When he asks Lornaal for three torches, the northman produces them without question and when Alma puts fire to them, Lornaal takes one, wordlessly following the Cyonian’s lead.

The torches snap and flicker like banners on the ends of the oil-soaked torches in the wind as the two men move in turn to each of the buildings, setting flame to their dry and hungry roofs. The shakes and thatching take little coaxing to ignite, despite the snow and soon a thick, noxious trail of smoke is issuing from each of the buildings.

As the first cries of alarm break out from the buildings, Alma and Lornaal walk back to where a stunned Torngrin stands holding the reigns. Like angry wasps the loggers boil from the camp buildings, shouting and scrambling to dampen the flames. There are twenty of them in total, all brawny men with large arms and broad chests.

Broadest of all, however, is Ulaf. The master of the camp burst from the main building with a murderous look in his eye and a keen axe in his hands. He spares only a brief look at the spreading flames before he turns towards those that set it.

Alma, waiting patiently speaks again:

My friend and I would still like to escort you back to the town for your safety, and to reinforce the towns defenses with your strong arms…. That being said we would rather kill you here then have your stubborn foolish corpses adding to the ranks of our foe. Ulof … the decision is yours!

The shocked looks on the faces of the loggers is countered by the exploding fury of their master.

Get yer axes boys, these dogs want for dying.

Roll some initiative!

Alma - Dumb Ass Loggers
Same in every world :)

Alma gives it one more try…

I wish for all our sakes that this was some figment of my imagination… But as much as I wish this nightmare where mine alone that is not the case. I have watched as people who fell to these beasts twitched and rose too attack people they called friends moments before. The multiply by killing, and they kill with brutal efficiency. You can not remain here…

Alma will wait for a response. If he does not get the response he is looking for he will turn and walk from the building. Alma will go to his horse and grab his flint and steel. He asks Lornaal for 3 of his torch’s and sets fire to the back of each of the camps buildings. As the loggers scramble to save their horses and gear or put out the fires Alma will address a most likely very angry leader again. Nodding to Lornaal he says.

My friend and I would still like to escort you back to the town for your safety, and to reinforce the towns defenses with your strong arms…. That being said we would rather kill you here then have your stubborn foolish corpses adding to the ranks of our foe. Ulof … the decision is yours!

Alma Draws his great blade with slow intent.
(intimidation is the Barbarians roll to make)

Terrence-Veniset-Church Inventory
Is there a detect magic in the house?

Terrence takes a mental note in his head of what they found in the church basement.

Full suit of Plate Armor, misc swords and sheilds, spears, bows, and leather armor. Two full barrels of white fletched arrows, misc vials and scrolls and twelve holy symbols of Pelor.

Terrence gets to the top of the stone steps and motions to a young boy running past them. He places his hand on the boys shoulder. Terrence describes T’alen and tells the boy to find him and to bring him to this location.

Terrence takes off to find Matrim and will try to meet back the same time as T’alen arrives.

When T’alen arrives Terrence will have him detect magic on these items and to distribute them in the best possible way.

Terrence watches the boy run off. Talton comes up the stairs and tells Terrence to go find Matrim and let him know of the items we have found. As Talton disappears back down the stairs, Terrence moves towards Cora and hides himself with her.
Speech: Cora! You little devil you. Where have you been? What are you thinking? We have been prepping for the battle and things are going well, hopeful even.

Terrence awaits Coras reply….

A night in Veniset 2


The Lumber Camp

While Torngrin stands in the falling snow with the horses, Alma and Lornaal cross the grounds of the camp to the largest of the buildings. A rickety mandoor with a woodpile next to it opens onto a cavernous room that stinks of unwashed men, smoke and horses. Ducking beneath the lintel they enter to the sound of men laughing, swearing and chatting amiably.

Alma, as your eyes adjust to the dimness, you see at least a dozen large bearded men crowded around a rough timber table next to a roaring fire. Their voices trail off as necks crane to look at you.

A middle-aged man with hulking shoulders and a full salt-and-pepper beard squints at you through the smokey air and calls in a heavy voice accented with Grewhainian:

’N who might you be?

You and Lornaal exchange a quick look before you respond:

My name is Alma Ellantre. A horde of undead sacked Port Parlone and is moving this way fast. My companions and I passed their tracks just outside Viniset and they were headed this way. I beseech you sir rouse your camp and make haste to Veniset where even now my companions are preparing and fortifying the town for a defense. To face these beasts here is to surely perish!

There is a silence in the room until the large man bursts in to a hearty laugh that is quickly echoed by the others.

Well, Alma Ellantre, please come have a seat. I am Ulof Garthson, master of this camp. I would hear more of this fairytale!


The members of the company left in Veniset continue directing the feverish work on the barricades. Six men begin hammering together planks and timbers in the howling wind and driving snow, erecting a rude pair of bridges between the church and the buildings flanking it. Their work is completed by torchlight as the heavy clouds and terrible weather obscure the setting sun, sending the world into a premature darkness.

The drifts gathering in the square pile up against the barricades until they stand nearly as deep as the defensive works. Beyond the square the village is very still as most of the inhabitants are holed up behind the stone walls and sturdy doors of the church.

Women, children and the elderly along with what provisions could be quickly gathered huddle in the church. A half dozen men from the watch armed with short swords have been left in the church to defend it should the undead gain entry. Otherwise, most of the able bodies men are now crouching on the roofs with bows or milling about the square with swords, spears or axes, preparing to defend their home against the threat.

There are forty three men in total. A sizeable number, but few of them are trained beyond the most meagre of martial skills. Even so, the men of the north are hearty and brave by necessity and each of them looks ready.

Matrim, three things weigh heavily on your mind as you check the defences and look to the coming night. First, the declining weather is already taking its toll. The snow obscures the vision and the howling wind could make communication difficult. Secondly, the continued absence of Alma and Lornaal means that your best fighters are away. When Alma suggested leaving, it had never occurred to you that Lornaal might follow him. As darkness closes in, you feel vulnerable without them. The third, and most troubling, is how little you know of your enemy’s numbers or location.

At least you have managed to chose the battlefield. With the majority of the village safe in the church, the wights will be compelled to storm the barricades. Your companions are hard at work, setting up trip lines and grease traps to slow down assailants and give you a greater chance. A great bonfire is lit in the centre of the square. Those not peering over the barricades, or wrapped in furs on the roof tops stand about it, warming their hands.

There is little to do now, but wait and see that the supplies drug out of the church by Terrence and Talton are put to the best use.

It was when Terrence emerged from the cellars of the church, struggling to carry a decrepit looking chest up the steep stone steps with Talton, that you were able to make your presence known. Talton was backing up the stairs and as Terrence appeared, his face red and puffing from the exertion, you waved your arms at him and placed a finger over your mouth to signal for silence.

The young man’s eyes briefly widened but he responded with just a slight nod before you melted back into
the shadows. Behind him, the vicar appeared on the steps, carrying a sheaf of arrows.

As they gently set the stained and beaten chest next to the alter, Talton wiped a sheen of sweat from his forehead and straightened his back.

I’ll head back down to drag up some more useful bits if you would like to let Matrim and the others know what we have found.

Terrence nodded his agreement, but as Talton and the vicar returned through the door into the undercroft, he turned towards the far side of the chapel, peering into the darkness for where you are hidden.


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