Category: RPG

Letter from Margravine Ulrikke von Rosenberg

To my fellow students,

It has been months since we exchanged notes in the library. I was ever so thankful for your help, and in return I did as you suggested and spoke to several people I thought could help with our work. I regret to say that it has not been met with a lot of enthusiasm. I really enjoyed our collaboration, but others did not share in our optimism. My quest continues, but I have had to change my approach, which means patience is necessary.

For the first time, I have joined my father in Kingsport for the winter. I have heard wonderful stories of how beautiful the city is during the Feast of the Moon and Midinváerne. During my stay, I would love to continue to collaborate with you and am looking forward to hearing what you have learned since we last saw one another.

Cordially,

The Margravine

Recovering the Plumes of the Duskmaven

Previously, the heroes had visited and spoken to a lot of people in order to come to terms with the consequences of their defeat of Xarrombus, as well as prepare themselves for the road ahead and potentially deal with the threat that Epidemius posed.

Eighth Day, First Ride, Autumn Twilight, 1262

(Silvermoon is in high sanction, Bloodmoon is waning, Darkmoon is waxing)

It was nearing the evening when the heroes entered Olafur’s chamber, a small room with dark, wooden panelling on the wall, an elaborate rug on the floor, decorated with red and white details. In the back an oddly placed, red, velvet curtain covered parts of the wall as well as a suit of armour that seemed out of place in the room. There was a mahogany desk with a heavy chair with a large back rest. The desk had many small compartments and drawers and the top held many different writing implements.

The grizzled Miðgarðurian asked the heroes to wait as he went to see whether Réonan, the enigmatic grand archmage of the Circle of Mages, would see them. He had made the same inquiry for them in the past, but it never seemed to get easier for him. He returned, but this time the grand archmage was not with him. Instead, he invited the heroes to follow him deeper into the college.

At the end of the lobby stood an arched door that Olafur unlocked with a key from an impressive keychain. The door lead to a circular staircase winding up a tower. Along the wall there were paintings of mage alumni, tapestries depicting scenes of the arcane, and paintings of legendary figures. These figured were marked with unique symbols that some of the heroes recognised as identifying them as Senhadrim arcanists.

The top of the stairs gave way to a jetty corridor with windows overlooking the city. The heroes could not recall ever seeing a tower reaching this high above Ravensbourne, which, coupled with the impossibly long corridor of the student dormitory, told them the Circle was larger than the outside of the building lead to believe.

All along the jetty corridor there were items of interest; a marble statue of a robed person carrying a bird of prey, a suit of armour made for an exceptionally tall person, a regal display of arms, a midnight blue banner displaying an octagram connecting a constellation of eight stars, a large drum made from wood and hide, a large, ironbound chest, an enormous, ceramic pot with a small tree growing from it, and a series of two dozen kite shields with banners of various noble houses.

Olafur lead the hero down the jetty corridor to a doorway leading to the tower’s interior. This revealed an impressive room with more items on display. There was an incomplete skeleton of a large bird, hanging from the ceiling by near invisible wires, an grand triptych with strange, possibly fey iconography, and a pedestal with a large book, covered by a glass dome. These were but a small number of the object d’importance.

Olafur lead the heroes across the room to another arched doorway behind which stood a large statue of a hunting cat with the head of a woman standing in a circular, vaulted alcove. There were no other ways out of that room, and there was nowhere left to go, but Olafur patiently waited for the heroes to step into the circular room with him. He then turned his attention to the statue, addressed it as “Prayanti, Guardian of the Scarab Temple of the Great Sand See of Noth”, and beseeched it to grant access them access. The entire room then turned 180 degrees to reveal another part of the tower through the same entrance they entered the alcove.

The room was circular, with a deep, blue carpet on the ground. The ceiling was high and domed, with a beautiful painted depiction of the night’s sky, complete stars connected in constellations, colourful nebulae and the three moons. Neahman immediately recognised that the depiction of the sky was in accordance to the current location of the moons and stars.

The windows around the outside of the chamber were slender and tall, again showing Kingsport below. At the opposite side of the chamber were a set of steps leading to a raised section of the room lined with pillars behind which was a cordoned off personal library with a lectern carrying an open book facing away from the room. On the right stood a heavy desk, and on the left stood a comfortable looking seating arrangement with padded sofas surrounding a low table. Réonan was seated on one of the sofas, their long hair combed to silver sheen, their slender frame and milky skin covered by a set of flowing silk robes.

The heroes spoke with Réonan about Epidemius, which they suggested had a role in the Battle of Dunagore, a fierce battle between the Silver Crusade and fiendish forces which was often overlooked when compared to the much more significant Battle of Blue Harbour. When the Book of Woe came up, they said; “It’s not a book, it’s a weapon.” Réonan also suggested the heroes could look into using the Newport Vault to store and protect the Tablets of the Elemental Eye they had recovered so far.

Neamhan had kept a low profile during most of the conversation, but eventually Réonan turned their attention to her. With her already legendary directness, she asked how she could prove that her magic did not originate from the gods. After a few questions she revealed that an elder named Oisín had recently awoken from a long slumber and had captivated her tribe. Oisín claimed magic, including Neamhan’s, was granted by the gods, and that the gods deserved their devotion. Neamhan knew in her heart of hearts that this was not true, and felt that Oisín was taking advantage of her tribe. She needed to disprove his claims.

The conversation came to a dissatisfying ending. Emrys had a growing suspicion that while Réonan wanted to provide the answers to the questions the heroes were fielding, that they simply couldn’t, as if afflicted by a kind of amnesia that they were trying to hide from the heroes. The heroes had already stayed past the city’s curfew and had to depart in order to make it back to the Careless Wanderer without harassment from the crownsguard and red custodians.

While the heroes were visiting the Circle of Mages, one of them went his own way and visited the House of the Raven Queen instead. When Quentin arrived he found the holy place empty of visitors. A silent sister, with her face painted white like porcelain, lead Quentin to cardinal Roark when he asked to see the man who had initiated him into the Order of Grave Knights. The cardinal invited Quentin to come and talk with him in his private chamber, which to Quentin looked very similar to father Devon’s chambers; gloomy and spartan.

The two shared some pleasantries; the cardinal explained that some of the important rituals of the Raven Queen were moved to the dawn in order to accommodate the curfew on the city. But soon, Quentin explained that his involvement in the demise of Xarrombus had lead to many deaths throughout the city, for which he felt responsible. In defending the principles of the Raven Queen, by defeating something from beyond the threshold, he had caused so many casualties. Was it an unfair trade?

Cardinal Roark said that despite the outcome, his actions were guided by the Raven Queen with a purpose, which went contrary to his belief that he must be held accountable for his actions. The cardinal invited Quentin to deepen his understanding of the teachings of the Raven Queen. In return, Quentin revealed that he had brought the feathered cloak that he had found in the Newport Vault, to which the cardinal gasped;

“And so it was foretold that the One who would oppose the Necromancer would recover the Plumes of the Duskmaven.”

The cardinal was filled with rapture at the sight of the cloak and being gifted it by Quentin. When the cardinal showed the cloak to the Silent Sisters they all, collectively, started wailing, something they were said to have done at the appearance of Epidemius as well. Quentin left to head back to the Careless Wanderer

Dr. Arkenward’s Ménagerie

Overview

The heroes found their way into Dr. Arkenward’s laboratory where they found a gruesome ménagerie of creatures. Here are the doctor’s notes on them.

Notes

Ludwig

The lowest ranked of the lesser infernal outsiders, though it will claim it still outranks the Lemure. There is quite a bit of writing which has survived the Age of Fear on imps; impervious to fire and all poisons, and incredibly resistant against attacks from non-silver weapons. Like all infernal outsiders, very resistant against cold-based attacks.

Quite a significant number of them survived through the Great Waning as they got stuck on the material plane. Through my interrogations I have concluded that this imp is not old and wise enough to have survived on this side of the seal since the Age of Fear. It is possible that it managed to be sent through the seal due to its limited strength.

It claims its name is “Ludwig”, but that name has not granted me the control over the imp that I had expected and I have therefore concluded that the name is false.

Grok

The dretch is the first form that abyssal animus congeals into, and while it hardly poses more threat to a trained mage than a goblin or a vodnik, leave it for long enough and it will grow to evolve into a far more loathsome and powerful demon as its animus hardens and matures. Immune to poison, able to emit a noxious vapour and very resistant to elemental attacks, and it has a remarkable aptitude for telepathy. Unlike its more evolved brethren, it has a normal susceptibility to attacks with mundane weapons.

I pulled this one from an abandoned house just outside of Blue Harbour. There were several others but this is the only one that managed to survive long enough to heal from the burn wounds it sustained. The others dissolved into black slag. I would have been worried about someone noticing a pack of missing dretches and coming to look for them had they been infernals, but no such loyalty can be expected from the tanar’ri.

Through the “experiments” I conducted on the dretch I have learned that it calls itself “Grok”, it hails from Pazunia, where it was fighting alongside manes and rutterkins for a demon lord named Baltazo. It does not quite understand how it came to be in Blue Harbour, but from the bits I have been able to compile, it seems that Baltazo has been experimenting with sending over low ranking demons and psuedo-demons.

Vetch

Vetch, as the skaven likes to call itself, is a sly one. It speaks the common tongue, albeit in a broken way. Duplicity, stealth and subterfuge seem to be its tools and trade. As a result, I’ve been having a very hard time getting information out of him that I can trust. I will have to independently verify each bit that Vetch shares.

It seems to have no great love for the rat ogre and considers its brutishness antithetical. It claims to be part of clan Eshin, which is a clan I’ve heard of, but not much is written about. I’ve got to be cautious with this one.

Vetch has shown some interest in my dissection of the tentacle-faced mind flayer and it has remarked that certain organs I’ve extracted can be used to create poisonous substances.

Rat Ogre

The skaven refer to this creature as a rat ogre, but it does not seem to have a particularly strong sense of self-awareness, beyond the primal rage what we see in some of the more monstrous humanoids. It does not have an ability to speak and does not seem to recognise words, names or a reference to it species.

My working theory is that the rat ogre is an engineered subspecies of the skaven, so for the purposes of categorisation I will consider it one of the servitor races.

Interestingly, not all of the skaven clans have turned to creating these abominations. There is a clan, clan Moulder, which specialises in creating not just these abominations, but others as well. The rat ogres are, however, the pinnacle of their achievement.

Buras

Smuggled to Kingsport from Farcorner, this khazra warrior is named Buras Blighthorn and he’s been given to me in order to interrogate him. The usual threats did not seem to appear effective, and applying force elicited a resigned response. To my surprise Buras was perfectly capable of speaking the common tongue and has turned out to be a rather pleasant conversationalist, intelligent and eloquent.

He’s explained to me many things, including his mission in Farcorner. I’ve reached a point with him that I think I’ll try a different approach and see if I can simply continue my conversations in order to understand the tensions and conflicts between the servitor races better, since there seems to be some animosity towards Enyalius from Buras and Vetch, and vice versa.

It has confirmed what the Circle already suspected, which is that the khazra hail from the Grey Waste of Hades.

Enyalius

What a strange creature the minotaur turns out to be. I have to be careful not to generalise, but from what I’ve learned by speaking to Enyalius, as it calls itself, is that it is a prideful and stoic creature whose only interest is duty. Not surprisingly, I have learned that its rank is that of “legionnaire”, a type of high ranking infantry and reports to Preclo, his “centurion.”

For all the effort I had to make in order to smuggle Enyalius out of the empire, he’s proven to be a bad source of information. It speaks both the abyssal and infernal tongue, but prefers infernal. This one will require more time.

Rogash

Retrieved from among some of the most northern orc, demon worshipping tribes, we have a strange, transformed orc. Blessed, the shamans would say, with the strength of their demonic overlords. They call them “tanarukks”, which seems to be an abyssal bastardisation of the orc word for “fury.”

It is completely useless to me. I have had to keep it unfed in order to deplete it of its destructive tendencies. I know its highly resistant to fire and poison as well as most magics, but its too aggressive to learn anything from as it has no interest in negotiations.

I have one or two more experiments to run on it, and then Rogash, as it calls itself, is bound for the incinerator.

Autopsy

When it became clear to me that some of the threats moved around the ancient waterways I charged some colleagues to investigate the rumours. They found a fair many problematic elements in those tunnels, none were more baffling than these tentacle-faced humanoids. When I went down myself I was eventually confronted by this one. It was tough; taunting me throughout with telepathy and flaying my mind with strange attacks. The source of its “magic”, if I can call it that, was alien to me.

I have yet to be able to dedicate time to understanding the nature of this creature, and a cursory scan of Tobin’s Planar Guide has yielded little of use, except that it vaguely resembled the aberrant denizens of the far realm. If true, it is completely unclear to me whether there are more of them, what they are doing here, what their designs are, and whether they make the waterways their home.

My investigation must continue and I must come up with a proper defence against their psychic attacks. If this creature is an example of the time to come, then we must expand our arsenal of attacks and defences.

The Princess and the Swans

The story goes that in a land beyond the Cerulean Sea an old, widowed king fell under the spell of a wicked sorceress who convinced him to remarry her. When the new queen was with child, she turned the king’s eleven sons into swans forced them to fly away, securing her child, which she knew to be a boy, to become king. The king was devastated at the disappearance of his sons and poured all of his love and affection on his daughter, Valetta. The queen was furious and tried to bewitch her, but her purity was too strong, so the queen tried to have her killed. The swans rescued Valetta from the attack and flew her away. The old king died from heartache and his land turned to sand. The queen took the throne and ruled over a desert.

The swans flew Valetta across the sea to a green and verdant land of sidhe and fey folk. There she met a sidhe queen with golden hair who told her she could save her brothers. She would have to travel around the lands to gather stinging nettles from around the graves of fallen heroes and knit them into shirts which would allow the swans to regain their human shapes. For the duration of her task, she would have to take a vow of silence; speaking one word would forever condemn her brothers to remain swans.

Valetta began her task and she travelled around finding the graves of heroes and clearing it of nettles, painfully blistering her hands from the stings. Never once did she utter a sound. And dutifully she spent her evenings knitting the gathered nettles into shirts.

One day a young king found Valetta clearing his father’s grave of nettles as he came to pay his respects. He fell in love with her and offered her a room in his castle where she could continue her knitting. Eventually he asked for her hand in marriage and she accepted. The priest who was the perform the ceremony was convinced that Valetta was a witch, but the young king did not believe him.

One night, when Valetta was almost done with the last shirt, she ran out of nettles and was forced to go to a nearby graveyard to collect more. The priest followed her and noticed that the necrophages refused to approach her. He took their fear of her purity as evidence of her guilt and ordered her to be put on trail for witchcraft.

Because Valleta could not speak in her own defence, she was sentenced to death by burning at the stake. While awaiting her punishment she continued to knit the last shirt. She continued knitting even as she was lead away to be executed, determined to continue up to the last moments of her life.

The executioner lit the fire and it began to spread around her. The swans swooped in and tried to lift her from the fire. Desperate, she threw the shirts over the swans. Her brothers returned to her human forms, all except Alban, the youngest, who had a swan’s wing instead of an arm, due to the shirt not having been completed.

Valetta was now able to speak the truth but she choked on the smoke and lost consciousness. Instead, her brothers explained her innocence. As they did so, the fire around the stake extinguished and flowers suddenly bloomed from the charred wood. The king plucked one of the flowers, a lily, and placed it on Valetta’s chest, reviving her.

They were married soon after. Each of the brothers went to found their own families, including young Alban. His swan wing made him feel like he did not belong and he was overcome with melancholy. One day, he was visited by a queen with golden hair, who invited him to come with her to join the sidhe.

Correspondence: First Missive from Epidemius

Overview

Written in the infernal language of Ba’ator, better known as the Nine Hells, this missive was retrieved from one of the skaven priests or shamans in the ancient waterways when they were trying to break out of the carceratum with the rebel lords.

Links

Letter

The plague maidens are congregating, drawn by the pestilent potential of a potent, ancient magic. I have read the signs and portents and require the skavens of clan [unclear] to investigate and reveal the truth. I have gathered enough [unclear] that I may open a gate through the seal for a short time through which they may travel. Once verified, they will report and be given further instruction.

– Epidemius the Cataloguer, Lord of Decay, One of the Seven Proctors of Pestilence. Devoted Underling of Baalzebul the Calabite, Ruler of the Seventh, Lord of Maladomini.