AAR (3 M) Founding of Grakor 2020-04-22 @ 23:00 GMT
Moderator:etherial
Daldorer, Rama, and Nez, come aboard and join me on this journey.
Re: LFG (3 M) Founding of Grakor 2020-04-22 @ 23:00 GMT
AAR:: Founding of Grakor
GM: BrandenV
Rating: 3 - Medium.
Eligible Characters: ECR 2 to 5
Mission organized by: Sandrin
Player Rewards:
Daldorer: 3 TIPs, 1400 Legend, 275 Silver
Rama: 3 TIPs, 1400 Legend, 275 Silver
Nez: 3 TIPs, 1400 Legend, 275 Silver
Sandrin: 3 TIPs, 1400 Legend, 275 Silver
Additional Journal rewards:to those who write them and are approved 70 lp, 68.8 sp.
GM Reward: Kain: 3 TIPs, 800 Legend, 200 Silver
Alternate rewards: 1 death cheat charm (Slightly used) - claimed by Nez, 1 Alchemist kit = Claimed by Etherial,
4 alchemy products mix and match.
Downtime Actions Available:
Sandrin Downtime: Craft Weapon at Step 7 (Rank 1) (Weapons up to Damage 2, 1 Day per Size)
Daldorer Downtime: Alchemy Step 7. Recipes: Booster Potion and Small Light Quartz
Further Information:
A new town of Grakor has been founded at 39.06
GM: BrandenV
Rating: 3 - Medium.
Eligible Characters: ECR 2 to 5
Mission organized by: Sandrin
Player Rewards:
Daldorer: 3 TIPs, 1400 Legend, 275 Silver
Rama: 3 TIPs, 1400 Legend, 275 Silver
Nez: 3 TIPs, 1400 Legend, 275 Silver
Sandrin: 3 TIPs, 1400 Legend, 275 Silver
Additional Journal rewards:to those who write them and are approved 70 lp, 68.8 sp.
GM Reward: Kain: 3 TIPs, 800 Legend, 200 Silver
Alternate rewards: 1 death cheat charm (Slightly used) - claimed by Nez, 1 Alchemist kit = Claimed by Etherial,
4 alchemy products mix and match.
Downtime Actions Available:
Sandrin Downtime: Craft Weapon at Step 7 (Rank 1) (Weapons up to Damage 2, 1 Day per Size)
Daldorer Downtime: Alchemy Step 7. Recipes: Booster Potion and Small Light Quartz
Further Information:
A new town of Grakor has been founded at 39.06
-
OldKingCole
- Posts:36
- Joined:Tue Mar 24, 2020 7:12 pm
Re: AAR (3 M) Founding of Grakor 2020-04-22 @ 23:00 GMT
From the journal of Rama, Obsidiman Warrior
The village of Grakor has been founded in blood, death and deceit. All Namegivers reading this should take note: Grakor is cursed and it’s leaders are not to be trusted on pain of your death.
I was there when Grakor was founded. Heed my words well as I tell you the tale of those who sacrificed their charges without reason.
A call went out from Joranka Bloodletter, an Orc and her life mate, a Dwarf named Borgan Swifthand. They intended to set up a new village less than a week’s travel north of Throal along the banks of the Coil. As always, I have included maps of our journey. I have lent my Talents to several such endeavors so far and found myself eager to once again venture into the wilds and help my fellow Namegivers rebuild the world.
My fellow Adepts on this journey were Sandrin, an Elven Air Sailor; Nez, a Windling BeastMaster and Dalroder, a fellow Obsidiman and a Nethermancer. Of the three, I have walked beside Dalroder and Sandrin before and know them to be true. Nez was new to me but quickly proved his quality.
The journey seemed strange from the start. We arrived to find Joranka and Borgan arguing over the number of their caravan. Borgan attempted to assuage his wife but she insisted that we find an additional ten Namegivers to join them, stating they were under the number needed to successfully found the hamlet. Borgan caved to the outsized temper of his Orc mate and we were pressed into service.
We canvassed the various areas of Throal and were able to muster ten individuals ready to find their place in the wider world. I wish I had listened to my misgivings and left these poor souls to their lives.
Once the additional persons were gathered, we began our journey. Our first days out of Throal were calm and I attempted to meet some of our fellow travelers.
My first founding caravans were generally joyful. The work is hard, true, but the Namegivers are usually pleased to have a purpose and to be under open sun and stars. I remember journeying with the Adept Temur, also and Orc and watching them fire dance for hours.
There was no such happiness in this group. There were two Obsidimen and at first I was happy to see my brothers but they coldly rebuffed my greeting and would not even respond with their names. The Dwarven blacksmith was so dour that Nez’s greeting was met a flying nail that I do not believe was an accident. Two Elven brothers spent most of their nights playing cards and loudly arguing but did not seem interested in including others in their game of chance.
One of the few that I was able to speak with was Janall, a T’Skrang wagoner. He and his two huttawas, Lunch and Dinner, were carrying various goods for the founding. He was experienced at the trip and I found his presence comforting.
The most unusual and unsettling thing in the caravan was the presence of a covered cart, guarded by a large Troll named Baal. Baal stated the cart contained wounded Namegivers which I found highly unusual. I pressed for details and were told these Namegivers were “sick” and had “food poisoning”. I pressed Joranka for details - why bring sick and injured along to found a town? Instead of answering, she slammed the door of her wagon in my face.
No further answer was forthcoming.
We continued in this manner - my unease growing, our hosts staying secretive, the mood of the caravan angry and surly. I told my fellow Adepts to stay on guard.
Then the rain started. For the next few days the rain followed us, seemingly unending. Along with the wind came the howls of wolves. They never strayed close enough to see during these first few nights but became a constant, unnerving presence. The wolves unnerved Janall’s huttawas and Nez showcased the wondrous abilities of his Discipline by calming them.
One evening, the Elven brothers escalated beyond arguing with words. One of them, Nava’yan, drew a knife and stabbed his brother in the hand. I tried to stop the act of violence but was not successful. I had to resort to physically restraining Nava’yan and luckily his strength was not a match for mine. During our brief struggle, I noticed he had a tattoo of a pair of curling ram horns on the inside of his wrist though at the time I did not know what it meant.
I wish on the lives we lost I had known.
That night, in the driving rain, the wolves attacked. They were large and pure white with lighting playing long their fur - much like the huttawas I fought in the mountains above Throal while helping Dorsha search for a node of True Air.
The first sign of their attack was a bolt of lightning that splintered the cart carrying the wounded - who none had seen, who had never left their cart for any reason - and set of aflame, killing all inside. In the shock of the light, thunder and flames they bounded in and were quickly among us.
Nez was attacked by two wolves and while I could not see details as I was also engaged, I saw one of the wolves attacking him stop to seemingly listen, then move away, back into the night. The other moved to me as it seemed to view the a Windling as no longer a threat.
Sandrin seemed to recognize these creatures as being more than wolves and pleaded with us to retreat and spare them but I was fighting for my life against one attacking me. I struck it with my shield and knocked it into the campfire and all hope of trying to communicate with the beasts was lost.
We drew them into the ring of the wagons and were able to reduce their numbers to one, which fled. Sandrin revealed to us that these were Storm Wolves who hunt the undead. The bolt of lightning that rent the wagon with the wounded was done by the wolves and they must have believed us to be defending whatever foulness they suspected.
I felt great guilt at killing the wolf that attacked me. I did not intend to end its life but nothing would undo what had been done. In the future I pledge to find my way to the Beastmaster when facing the hostile wildlife of Barsaive and follow their directions.
As most Obsidimen, I am not given to displays of emotions such as other Namegivers often display. However, my guilt over the wolf and hearing what Sandrin said along with my building misgivings since the start of the trip built to a fury within me. I sought out both Joranka and Baal demanding more answers and when my questions were repeatedly ignored I nearly assaulted Joranka. My fellow Adepts were able to reason with me in my rage and I stayed my hand.
Perhaps if I had struck her dead, things may have been different. Perhaps not. Things unfold as they will, heedless of the wishes of Namegivers. All I can tell is what happened next.
I and my fellow Adepts went to the ten we had recruited. We felt an obligation to those we had brought on to such a strange and cursed expedition. We asked them to stay with us, to separate from the caravan as a whole. Of the ten we brought, three listened and stayed close to us.
We arrived at the agreed upon spot for the founding of Grakor and decided to spend a few nights with the group as Joranka and Brogan had requested.
Poor Brogan. As much as I had deep distrust and anger to Joranka, I would never have wished what happened upon him.
I awoke to Sandrin who was on watch calling for us and the screams of the dead and dying. We found Joranka badly wounded and the bodies of the seven others we had brought from Throal arranged around her wagon. Through blood and tears, she stated that they had been attacked and Brogan had been taken - she pleaded with us to save him.
The trial into the woods north of the wagons was clear and we moved quickly and carefully trying to follow it. As we moved along a stone ledge to the left of a path in the wood, four cadaver men attacked us. The moonlight revealed the worst - one of the undead was Brogan.
Dalroder our Nethermancer informed us of the nature of the foe we faced and guided us in how to engage them. We fought well - I feared we would lose Dalroder as he found himself at first trapped between two of the cadaver men but he was able to escape their clutches. Once we were able to protect our Nethermancer, we prevailed.
We returned Brogan’s body to Joranka. Her tears seemed genuine, but I do not trust her, not even her grief.
Upon returning to Throal, I busied myself in the Great Library, looking for anything I missed, anything that would tie this mound of lies into something resembling truth. The only thing I found was the mark on the arm of Nava’yan, the Elf. That brand of rams horns on his arms is associated with the worship of the Mad Passion Raggok. As to what part that played in this disaster, I cannot say.
Here is my tale of the founding of the cursed village of Grakor. Heed my warning well - Joranka Bloodletter is not to be trusted. At best she turned a blind eye and demonstrated amazingly willful ignorance towards deep issues in an expedition she organized which cost the life of her own husband along with seven unfortunates who she led to their deaths. At worst she recruited citizens of Throal to be sacrificed for some dark purpose I cannot guess. Do not visit Grakor, do not trade with Grakor and for all the Passions never spend a night in Grakor.
Your ignorance will cost you your life.
The village of Grakor has been founded in blood, death and deceit. All Namegivers reading this should take note: Grakor is cursed and it’s leaders are not to be trusted on pain of your death.
I was there when Grakor was founded. Heed my words well as I tell you the tale of those who sacrificed their charges without reason.
A call went out from Joranka Bloodletter, an Orc and her life mate, a Dwarf named Borgan Swifthand. They intended to set up a new village less than a week’s travel north of Throal along the banks of the Coil. As always, I have included maps of our journey. I have lent my Talents to several such endeavors so far and found myself eager to once again venture into the wilds and help my fellow Namegivers rebuild the world.
My fellow Adepts on this journey were Sandrin, an Elven Air Sailor; Nez, a Windling BeastMaster and Dalroder, a fellow Obsidiman and a Nethermancer. Of the three, I have walked beside Dalroder and Sandrin before and know them to be true. Nez was new to me but quickly proved his quality.
The journey seemed strange from the start. We arrived to find Joranka and Borgan arguing over the number of their caravan. Borgan attempted to assuage his wife but she insisted that we find an additional ten Namegivers to join them, stating they were under the number needed to successfully found the hamlet. Borgan caved to the outsized temper of his Orc mate and we were pressed into service.
We canvassed the various areas of Throal and were able to muster ten individuals ready to find their place in the wider world. I wish I had listened to my misgivings and left these poor souls to their lives.
Once the additional persons were gathered, we began our journey. Our first days out of Throal were calm and I attempted to meet some of our fellow travelers.
My first founding caravans were generally joyful. The work is hard, true, but the Namegivers are usually pleased to have a purpose and to be under open sun and stars. I remember journeying with the Adept Temur, also and Orc and watching them fire dance for hours.
There was no such happiness in this group. There were two Obsidimen and at first I was happy to see my brothers but they coldly rebuffed my greeting and would not even respond with their names. The Dwarven blacksmith was so dour that Nez’s greeting was met a flying nail that I do not believe was an accident. Two Elven brothers spent most of their nights playing cards and loudly arguing but did not seem interested in including others in their game of chance.
One of the few that I was able to speak with was Janall, a T’Skrang wagoner. He and his two huttawas, Lunch and Dinner, were carrying various goods for the founding. He was experienced at the trip and I found his presence comforting.
The most unusual and unsettling thing in the caravan was the presence of a covered cart, guarded by a large Troll named Baal. Baal stated the cart contained wounded Namegivers which I found highly unusual. I pressed for details and were told these Namegivers were “sick” and had “food poisoning”. I pressed Joranka for details - why bring sick and injured along to found a town? Instead of answering, she slammed the door of her wagon in my face.
No further answer was forthcoming.
We continued in this manner - my unease growing, our hosts staying secretive, the mood of the caravan angry and surly. I told my fellow Adepts to stay on guard.
Then the rain started. For the next few days the rain followed us, seemingly unending. Along with the wind came the howls of wolves. They never strayed close enough to see during these first few nights but became a constant, unnerving presence. The wolves unnerved Janall’s huttawas and Nez showcased the wondrous abilities of his Discipline by calming them.
One evening, the Elven brothers escalated beyond arguing with words. One of them, Nava’yan, drew a knife and stabbed his brother in the hand. I tried to stop the act of violence but was not successful. I had to resort to physically restraining Nava’yan and luckily his strength was not a match for mine. During our brief struggle, I noticed he had a tattoo of a pair of curling ram horns on the inside of his wrist though at the time I did not know what it meant.
I wish on the lives we lost I had known.
That night, in the driving rain, the wolves attacked. They were large and pure white with lighting playing long their fur - much like the huttawas I fought in the mountains above Throal while helping Dorsha search for a node of True Air.
The first sign of their attack was a bolt of lightning that splintered the cart carrying the wounded - who none had seen, who had never left their cart for any reason - and set of aflame, killing all inside. In the shock of the light, thunder and flames they bounded in and were quickly among us.
Nez was attacked by two wolves and while I could not see details as I was also engaged, I saw one of the wolves attacking him stop to seemingly listen, then move away, back into the night. The other moved to me as it seemed to view the a Windling as no longer a threat.
Sandrin seemed to recognize these creatures as being more than wolves and pleaded with us to retreat and spare them but I was fighting for my life against one attacking me. I struck it with my shield and knocked it into the campfire and all hope of trying to communicate with the beasts was lost.
We drew them into the ring of the wagons and were able to reduce their numbers to one, which fled. Sandrin revealed to us that these were Storm Wolves who hunt the undead. The bolt of lightning that rent the wagon with the wounded was done by the wolves and they must have believed us to be defending whatever foulness they suspected.
I felt great guilt at killing the wolf that attacked me. I did not intend to end its life but nothing would undo what had been done. In the future I pledge to find my way to the Beastmaster when facing the hostile wildlife of Barsaive and follow their directions.
As most Obsidimen, I am not given to displays of emotions such as other Namegivers often display. However, my guilt over the wolf and hearing what Sandrin said along with my building misgivings since the start of the trip built to a fury within me. I sought out both Joranka and Baal demanding more answers and when my questions were repeatedly ignored I nearly assaulted Joranka. My fellow Adepts were able to reason with me in my rage and I stayed my hand.
Perhaps if I had struck her dead, things may have been different. Perhaps not. Things unfold as they will, heedless of the wishes of Namegivers. All I can tell is what happened next.
I and my fellow Adepts went to the ten we had recruited. We felt an obligation to those we had brought on to such a strange and cursed expedition. We asked them to stay with us, to separate from the caravan as a whole. Of the ten we brought, three listened and stayed close to us.
We arrived at the agreed upon spot for the founding of Grakor and decided to spend a few nights with the group as Joranka and Brogan had requested.
Poor Brogan. As much as I had deep distrust and anger to Joranka, I would never have wished what happened upon him.
I awoke to Sandrin who was on watch calling for us and the screams of the dead and dying. We found Joranka badly wounded and the bodies of the seven others we had brought from Throal arranged around her wagon. Through blood and tears, she stated that they had been attacked and Brogan had been taken - she pleaded with us to save him.
The trial into the woods north of the wagons was clear and we moved quickly and carefully trying to follow it. As we moved along a stone ledge to the left of a path in the wood, four cadaver men attacked us. The moonlight revealed the worst - one of the undead was Brogan.
Dalroder our Nethermancer informed us of the nature of the foe we faced and guided us in how to engage them. We fought well - I feared we would lose Dalroder as he found himself at first trapped between two of the cadaver men but he was able to escape their clutches. Once we were able to protect our Nethermancer, we prevailed.
We returned Brogan’s body to Joranka. Her tears seemed genuine, but I do not trust her, not even her grief.
Upon returning to Throal, I busied myself in the Great Library, looking for anything I missed, anything that would tie this mound of lies into something resembling truth. The only thing I found was the mark on the arm of Nava’yan, the Elf. That brand of rams horns on his arms is associated with the worship of the Mad Passion Raggok. As to what part that played in this disaster, I cannot say.
Here is my tale of the founding of the cursed village of Grakor. Heed my warning well - Joranka Bloodletter is not to be trusted. At best she turned a blind eye and demonstrated amazingly willful ignorance towards deep issues in an expedition she organized which cost the life of her own husband along with seven unfortunates who she led to their deaths. At worst she recruited citizens of Throal to be sacrificed for some dark purpose I cannot guess. Do not visit Grakor, do not trade with Grakor and for all the Passions never spend a night in Grakor.
Your ignorance will cost you your life.
Re: AAR (3 M) Founding of Grakor 2020-04-22 @ 23:00 GMT
Sandrin (Elf Air Sailor)
Rama (Obsidiman Warrior)
Daloder (Obsidiman Nethermancer)
Nez (Windling Beastmaster)
I've heard a bit about the newlyweds through the grapevine. Joranka is particularly well known for her potions, as well as her poisons in other markets.
Joranka thinks they need 10 more people, so we head back in to gather people. Sandrin is able to talk 3 more into coming with us. Nez convinces 4 more. Rama and Daloder convince the last 3 needed. We shuffle them all into a wagon and get ready to go.
It’s about 60 people total now, various races (fewer dwarves, no children).
Night 2: People are more settled in, we can socialize with them.
Rama meets with two other Obsidimen, but they’re off on their own. When approached, they request personal time and space. Rama leaves them be.
Nez meets the head of the caravan, another Windling, Lillianth. She helps people with remedies. He discovered this group was a tight-knit before this trip due to some connection they don't divulge.
One Dwarf craftsman, heavily scarred. Chad. He’s very direct and to the point as he brushes off Rama.
A pair of Elf brothers playing cards and arguing.
Older T’skrang resting on a cart pulled by a Huttawa. Jenal
Particularly large Troll is standing guard near an enclosed wagon. Says they don’t want their wounded bothered. They succumbed to some bad food. Rama and Daloder both offer their skills as physicians, and are refused.
We try to talk with Joranka about the ill, but she shuts us out.
The T’skrang cartman, Jenal, is hauling food and supplies, expects to work a trade route after it’s established. Says they’re like-minded.
A heavy rain suddenly begins to come down. We hear some distant wolves howling. We notice the Huttawa start pulling on their reigns and Jenal has issues keeping them under control. Nez helps calm them down.
The two elves start fighting each other. As Rama arrives, one stabs the other with a knife, revealing a tattoo of rams horns. Rama then pulls them apart. Daloder casts Deaths Head and scares the two into submission. Rama tends to the wound, noticing there are several old knife wounds.
Lillianth is missing a medical instrument, something to press upon wounds. A small rod with curling horns. Daloder uses Astral Sight to locate its Pattern.
We circle the wagons and set up a watch for the night. Nothing happens but the rain continues.
I have a bad feeling about this. I remember something about wolves and sudden storms...
Night 3: Still raining, no activity.
Night 4: Still raining, no activity.
Night 5: Still raining. I'm is on watch, and there’s a large crash as the wounded cart is struck by lighting. I run over to keep the fire in check, and take a peek inside the wagon. Seeing the wolves clearly, it comes back to me in a flood. There's something bad at work here. Several wolves approach the circle of wagons, and one of them gets killed by the Huttawas. Leaving 6 for the rest of us.
Rama tells us to put our backs to the carts. I call out that this is a big misunderstanding, the Storm Wolves should be after undead, not Namegivers. Daldoer Frightens a wolf to run away. We move to group up by the fire. Rama kills one, this changes the tone and we fight in earnest. We kill all but the last one, which runs away after a savage beating.
People start to emerge from their wagons. We take the wolves bodies out of the camp for a proper burial. The next morning the settlers have a solemn procession for the “sick” corpses.
Later that day, we arrive at the site and deliver them to their new homes.
We discuss things and confront Joranka about the situation. She walks away and Rama doesn’t push the issue.
We need to stay a few nights to ensure their safety. As I start to take over the watch for Daldorer we hear a scream, wake the others, and take off running. We find 7 dead bodies (the other new people) and several others are injured from nasty instruments. Joranka is the one who screamed and is also injured. Rama tries to tend to Joranka’s injuries. She pushes him to head off, telling us to follow them since they took Borgan. We have the settlers start lighting torches to light the area. We start following the tracks.
About 5 minutes later, we arrive in a forest area. We are approached by 4 Cadavermen, one of them is Borgan. We kill Borgan (again) and then enrage all the Cadavermen. The bounce uselessly off of Rama. We kill them all.
We bring the bodies back to town. Joranka appears distraught and dismisses us so they can mourn in private.
We return back to Throal, with the last 3 settlers we talked into coming. We're all a little disheartened by the grim encounter.
Rama turned in his journal first. While he was there he did some research into the rams horn symbolism and discovered it can represent Raggok. We just escorted a cult to set up their own town. Passions forgive us.
Rama (Obsidiman Warrior)
Daloder (Obsidiman Nethermancer)
Nez (Windling Beastmaster)
I've heard a bit about the newlyweds through the grapevine. Joranka is particularly well known for her potions, as well as her poisons in other markets.
Joranka thinks they need 10 more people, so we head back in to gather people. Sandrin is able to talk 3 more into coming with us. Nez convinces 4 more. Rama and Daloder convince the last 3 needed. We shuffle them all into a wagon and get ready to go.
It’s about 60 people total now, various races (fewer dwarves, no children).
Night 2: People are more settled in, we can socialize with them.
Rama meets with two other Obsidimen, but they’re off on their own. When approached, they request personal time and space. Rama leaves them be.
Nez meets the head of the caravan, another Windling, Lillianth. She helps people with remedies. He discovered this group was a tight-knit before this trip due to some connection they don't divulge.
One Dwarf craftsman, heavily scarred. Chad. He’s very direct and to the point as he brushes off Rama.
A pair of Elf brothers playing cards and arguing.
Older T’skrang resting on a cart pulled by a Huttawa. Jenal
Particularly large Troll is standing guard near an enclosed wagon. Says they don’t want their wounded bothered. They succumbed to some bad food. Rama and Daloder both offer their skills as physicians, and are refused.
We try to talk with Joranka about the ill, but she shuts us out.
The T’skrang cartman, Jenal, is hauling food and supplies, expects to work a trade route after it’s established. Says they’re like-minded.
A heavy rain suddenly begins to come down. We hear some distant wolves howling. We notice the Huttawa start pulling on their reigns and Jenal has issues keeping them under control. Nez helps calm them down.
The two elves start fighting each other. As Rama arrives, one stabs the other with a knife, revealing a tattoo of rams horns. Rama then pulls them apart. Daloder casts Deaths Head and scares the two into submission. Rama tends to the wound, noticing there are several old knife wounds.
Lillianth is missing a medical instrument, something to press upon wounds. A small rod with curling horns. Daloder uses Astral Sight to locate its Pattern.
We circle the wagons and set up a watch for the night. Nothing happens but the rain continues.
I have a bad feeling about this. I remember something about wolves and sudden storms...
Night 3: Still raining, no activity.
Night 4: Still raining, no activity.
Night 5: Still raining. I'm is on watch, and there’s a large crash as the wounded cart is struck by lighting. I run over to keep the fire in check, and take a peek inside the wagon. Seeing the wolves clearly, it comes back to me in a flood. There's something bad at work here. Several wolves approach the circle of wagons, and one of them gets killed by the Huttawas. Leaving 6 for the rest of us.
Rama tells us to put our backs to the carts. I call out that this is a big misunderstanding, the Storm Wolves should be after undead, not Namegivers. Daldoer Frightens a wolf to run away. We move to group up by the fire. Rama kills one, this changes the tone and we fight in earnest. We kill all but the last one, which runs away after a savage beating.
People start to emerge from their wagons. We take the wolves bodies out of the camp for a proper burial. The next morning the settlers have a solemn procession for the “sick” corpses.
Later that day, we arrive at the site and deliver them to their new homes.
We discuss things and confront Joranka about the situation. She walks away and Rama doesn’t push the issue.
We need to stay a few nights to ensure their safety. As I start to take over the watch for Daldorer we hear a scream, wake the others, and take off running. We find 7 dead bodies (the other new people) and several others are injured from nasty instruments. Joranka is the one who screamed and is also injured. Rama tries to tend to Joranka’s injuries. She pushes him to head off, telling us to follow them since they took Borgan. We have the settlers start lighting torches to light the area. We start following the tracks.
About 5 minutes later, we arrive in a forest area. We are approached by 4 Cadavermen, one of them is Borgan. We kill Borgan (again) and then enrage all the Cadavermen. The bounce uselessly off of Rama. We kill them all.
We bring the bodies back to town. Joranka appears distraught and dismisses us so they can mourn in private.
We return back to Throal, with the last 3 settlers we talked into coming. We're all a little disheartened by the grim encounter.
Rama turned in his journal first. While he was there he did some research into the rams horn symbolism and discovered it can represent Raggok. We just escorted a cult to set up their own town. Passions forgive us.
Re: AAR (3 M) Founding of Grakor 2020-04-22 @ 23:00 GMT
The Written Histories of Nez and …
Sagarmartha I truly miss your counseling and guidance. I believe you could of seen through this and helped save many lives.
It started when we took up a job by Borgan Swifthand human and his wife Joranka Bloodletter Ork an Alchemist who were looking to set up a village on the northwestern hills of the Throal mountains. In order to make the town work they claimed they needed more settlers. So we head back into Throal. I fly through the Bazaar and gather more. We have about 60 people and we are provided with a cart. This will be a wide mix of characters but it seems like the Dwarfs are happy to stay underground. Fortunately no children were in this caravan.
Many in the caravan appeared to be Troll level grumpy. One Dwarf named Chad who seems to be the blacksmith who is less than friendly. Navigeon an Elf who was stabbed by his brother that seemed excessive. Another Troll, Bal who was guarding their wounded was extra grumpy as well.
Although I was fooled by Lilianth the matron of the group and head scout and navigator. She seemed nice and helped with remedies. A T’skrang Janal is helping with the beasts and seems to be good with them.
After days of heavy rains, the night before we arrived at the proposed village we were attacked by a number of smaller Storm Wolves. It was very sad to have killed such beautiful creatures. I was very relieved that two of the wolves chose to fled. Why they attacked gnawed at us. Legends say Storm Wolves hate the undead and horrors.
These events caused our suspicion to grow and we tried to convince the newcomers to stay with us, unfortunately we could only convince 3 of the 10. The next morning we found a terrific scene where Joranka was bloodied, Bal was knocked out on the ground and the 7 newcomers were brutally murdered. The 7 we could not convince to sleep near us. She claimed that murderers came in the night and killed them and asked us to track down and save her husband Borgan. With some hesitation we warned the other newcomers and helped with finding Borgan. Not far from camp we ran into 4 Cadavar Men which one of them was Borgan. Daldorer our Nethermancer quickly explained that they go into a murderous fury and if you wound one you must bring it down quickly. Borgan came up and attacked our party and I quickly knocked him down. We focused on him and shortly after I finished Borgan on.
The confusion of battle drew in and we ended up wounding all the Cadavar men. In times like this I was happy I could fly away. The undead Fury was truly frightening. Sandrin, Rama and Daldorer were all very capable and we dispatched those unnatural beings.
It was observed that one of the Elf brothers had a tattoo representing rams horns. When we arrived back at Throal we found out the true horror of the situation that we led those into. I fear that the entire town are worshippers of the Mad Passion Raggok.
I must find Sagarmartha as he will help me figure out what to do.
NezPerce GrosVentre.
Sagarmartha I truly miss your counseling and guidance. I believe you could of seen through this and helped save many lives.
It started when we took up a job by Borgan Swifthand human and his wife Joranka Bloodletter Ork an Alchemist who were looking to set up a village on the northwestern hills of the Throal mountains. In order to make the town work they claimed they needed more settlers. So we head back into Throal. I fly through the Bazaar and gather more. We have about 60 people and we are provided with a cart. This will be a wide mix of characters but it seems like the Dwarfs are happy to stay underground. Fortunately no children were in this caravan.
Many in the caravan appeared to be Troll level grumpy. One Dwarf named Chad who seems to be the blacksmith who is less than friendly. Navigeon an Elf who was stabbed by his brother that seemed excessive. Another Troll, Bal who was guarding their wounded was extra grumpy as well.
Although I was fooled by Lilianth the matron of the group and head scout and navigator. She seemed nice and helped with remedies. A T’skrang Janal is helping with the beasts and seems to be good with them.
After days of heavy rains, the night before we arrived at the proposed village we were attacked by a number of smaller Storm Wolves. It was very sad to have killed such beautiful creatures. I was very relieved that two of the wolves chose to fled. Why they attacked gnawed at us. Legends say Storm Wolves hate the undead and horrors.
These events caused our suspicion to grow and we tried to convince the newcomers to stay with us, unfortunately we could only convince 3 of the 10. The next morning we found a terrific scene where Joranka was bloodied, Bal was knocked out on the ground and the 7 newcomers were brutally murdered. The 7 we could not convince to sleep near us. She claimed that murderers came in the night and killed them and asked us to track down and save her husband Borgan. With some hesitation we warned the other newcomers and helped with finding Borgan. Not far from camp we ran into 4 Cadavar Men which one of them was Borgan. Daldorer our Nethermancer quickly explained that they go into a murderous fury and if you wound one you must bring it down quickly. Borgan came up and attacked our party and I quickly knocked him down. We focused on him and shortly after I finished Borgan on.
The confusion of battle drew in and we ended up wounding all the Cadavar men. In times like this I was happy I could fly away. The undead Fury was truly frightening. Sandrin, Rama and Daldorer were all very capable and we dispatched those unnatural beings.
It was observed that one of the Elf brothers had a tattoo representing rams horns. When we arrived back at Throal we found out the true horror of the situation that we led those into. I fear that the entire town are worshippers of the Mad Passion Raggok.
I must find Sagarmartha as he will help me figure out what to do.
NezPerce GrosVentre.