This character is a conversion from a 2nd Edition Bard played many moons ago. The background is quite lengthy, but , hey I already had it typed up from back then so why not...
Aragon Tul-Corith
Class: Bard/Illusionist (Class and a half)
Race: Human (Oeridian)
Gender: Male
Alignment: Nuetral (G)
Deity: Lydia
Languages: Common, Dwarven, Elven, Halfling, Oeridian, Suloise, Bakluni, Flannae
STR: 11
DEX: 16 (+2, prime)
CON: 10
INT: 16 (+2, prime)
WIS: 12
CHA: 18 (+3, prime)
Level: 8(4)
HD: 8d8
Hp: 49
AC: 19 (15)
BtH: +7
Move: 30’
Weapons: Rapier +2 (Windslicer), Dagger, Dagger/Throwing, Sling (20 silver bullets)
Magic Items: Bracers of Armor +5, Belt of Many Pouches, Cloak of Elvenkind, Lute of the Lady
- Belt of Many Pouches - This appears to be a well made, wide belt, though on examination you will find 4 pouches on the inner portion of the belt, on either side of the buckles. In truth, on further examination it shows there are seven additional pouches behind the first, and each of these holds an enchantment similar to that of a bag of holding. Each pouch can contain up to one cubic foot of material with a weight of no more than 10 pounds. The girdle detects the thoughts of the person wearing it and will call forth to the top of the pouch any item being sought, or a pouch that has capacity for the item to be placed there in. The pouches suffer the same restrictions as a bag of holding on sharp objects or overloading.
- Lute of the Lady - The Lute is one of the most exquisitely crafted lutes ever created. Commissioned by Larissa, one of the Magisters of Dyvers, it was given as a gift to her dear friend Aragon Tul-Corith. The Lute was blessed by a high priest of Lydia. When played, it provides a +2 bonus on the performance test, and if a Bard is successful in his test while using the Lute to Exhort or Exhort Greatness, all bonuses (except additional HP) are doubled. If a successful Fascinate test is made, the number of affected creatures doubles.
PHYSICAL DESCRIPTION: 26 years old, 5’10”, 163#, lean build, tanned skin, light blue eyes, straight black hair, loose fitting tunic (dark blue with red trim) and pants (black)
PERSONALITY: curious, serious, compassionate, loyal, vengeful
UNUSUAL ABILITIES:
- Due to his fighting style, when wearing no or light/flexible armor (Leather Jacket, Leather, Studded Leather, Elven Chain Mail), he receives a +2 to his armor class.
- Aragon's fighting style restricts him to Rapiers and Daggers, all other weapons are considered non-proficient. However, due to the focus on the light weapons and the dance-like maneuvers, Aragon uses his Dexterity bonus on his to-hit rolls with these weapons.
- Aragon suffers from a severe phobia of snakes, and snak-like reptilian creatures. When faced with such a creature he must make a Wisdom save, the base CL is increased by 4, or he will either freeze up or attempt to flee the creature, if cornered he suffers a -5 penalty to all combat and skill tests. Further, even with a successful fear test, he will still suffer a -2 to all combat and skill tests.
- Spell Casting
- Aragon's Focus item for spell casting is a musical instrument
- All Verbal components are sung
- All Somatic components are playing a musical instrument (this could be an improvised instrument, even as simple as drumming on a table or even his legs)
SPELL BOOK:
- Level 0 - Arcane Mark, Dancing Lights, Detect Illusion, Ghost Sound, Light, Magical Aura
- Level 1 - Daze, Faeries Glamour, Illusionary Hounds, Read Magic, Silent Image, Ventroloquism
- Level 2 - Blur, Detect Magic, Eyes of Fire, Magic Mouth, Minor Image, Pyrotechnics
BACKGROUND:
Aragon Tul-Corith, born Goodmonth, 12, 965cy, the son of Goran Tul-Corith, Knight of the Hart/Furyondy, Knight-General of The Gold County, Lord of Stalmaer. Much of his childhood was spent in tutelage of the Warrior-Sage Aerion, advisor to the Furyondian branch of the Knights of the Hart. His thirst for knowledge was insatiable; particularly fascinated in the military history of the lands of the Flanaess. He quickly learned the tongues of the human tribes of old. Aragon spent much time with the denizens of the Gnarley and those from the south. Elves frequently travel through Stalmaer, from them he picked up the rudiments of their tongue. Many dwarves filled the mercenary ranks of the army of the county. Intrigued by the tails of their people's battles, Aragon spent many hours talking to the diminutive warriors. Much of their tales could not be easily translated; thus he learned their language out of necessity to sate his curiosity. Aerion was well pleased with his pupil, though Goran grew frustrated with his son. Goran had envisioned Aragon a warrior, and was displeased with his apparent lack of martial skill.
Goran removed Aragon from his studies under Aerion when the boy was 14 years of age. He thrust a broadsword into his son’s hand and engaged him in a duel. Aragon found the blade to heavy to be easily wielded and was quickly bruised and battered by his father. In frustration, Goran grabbed the blade from his hand and broke it across his knee. He berated his son and turned his back on him, leaving Aragon greatly disheartened. Aragon tried to learn the use of the weapon, hoping to impress his father. Still the weapon seemed awkward to him. His instructor suggested a lighter weapon, a saber or short sword. Aragon though pulled a rapier from the stand of weapons. Wielding this blade he took the weapon master by surprise and somehow disarmed him. Aragon was a quick study with this blade and soon gave the instructor a good workout. Aragon was ready; he approached his father and challenged him. Goran beamed with pride, until they reached the practice fields and Aragon drew forth the rapier. Outraged Goran at first denied his son the test he sought. But his son persisted and Goran unsheathed his blade and slapped Aragons arm with the flat of the blade. A large welt formed, red and throbbing. Aragon quickly recovered and used his weapon to knock his father’s blade to the side. They settled into their fighting stance and circled each other; Goran lunged, Aragon sidestepped the blow and with a flick of his wrist, he encircled his father’s blade with his own. A final snap wrung across his father’s hand, his grip on the broadsword loosened; a quick tug and the blade falls to the ground. Goran roared in anger and stormed from the field. Aragon watched in dismay as his father stalked off, he imagined that he could hear his father grumbling long after he was out of sight. Later that night he slipped from his room and headed for the southern lands…
Aragon was ill prepared for life on the road; he brought a minimal amount of cash, and little in the way of provisions. Still a child and not wise in the ways of the world, he was taken by a con man for most all of his cash. He foraged as he could, but he soon grew weak with hunger and thirst. He climbed through the Kron Hills and came upon the bank of a small stream. He had fresh water, and actually caught a pair of blue gill, which he prepared over a small fire of grass and twigs. Feeling satisfied with the first good meal he had in a week, he settled in to sleep for the night… Something nudged at him and he awoke with a start. Slithering over his face was a snake, his mouth opened but he could not scream, his body would not obey his commands; paralyzed with fear, he could do nothing. Suddenly the snake is flung off of his face and he gulps for air. His lungs full, he screams, his eyes turn red as he sees a small form coming towards him. All goes black…
Aragon awakens in a small hovel, the scent of bread wafting on the air; he sits up and bumps his head on the ceiling. A diminutive woman walks in the room, “Oh you are finally awake, move easily young one you had quite a start.” The kindly faced halfling places a hand on his arm, “Are you hungry?”
Aragon, a look of confusion on his face asks, “Where… where am I?”
The halfling maiden replies, “Talfehome, here in the Kron Hills, near Celene. You have come a long way by the looks of you. Why are you out and about on your own, where are your parents?
“I left them,” he states, “My father doesn’t love me anymore anyhow, so I didn’t see any reason to stay.” Aragon sobs thinking of home.
The halfling maiden and Aragon talked for the better part of the day until her husband came home. Nolf told Aragon that he came across him as the water snake had crawled onto him. He had used his staff to quickly lift the snake from his face, and fling it into the stream. His companions and he made a quick stretcher from their staves, and were able to bring him to their home. Aragon stayed with the family for almost half a year, but after his birthday, he sadly took his leave of them to continue his journey. Aragon promised to return often to visit the family and wished them well. He wished to visit a young elf going by the name Patch. Patch had visited Stalmaer with his family when they had journeyed to the Vesve a few years back.
Aragon wandered the lands of Celene, before meeting and befriending Koralas, an elven bard. Koralas promised to help Aragon find his friend, but he needed to work to earn his stay with the elf. In return, Koralas also taught Aragon how to play the lute, and worked with him on his voice. Koralas could not believe the natural talent that the young human possessed. His voice had an unbelievable range to it, and with a little training and practice he could rival even that of the elves. The speed with which he was able to master the lute, and then the flute was amazing. The young human was as a sponge, simply absorbing the songs and stories Koralas taught him. One day while Aragon was playing and singing a song that Koralas believed to be Aragon’s own composition, the elf was startled, thinking he could actually see the battle taking place. He had the human replay the tune, and this time there was no mistaking it; he again saw an illusion of the battle. Koralas stood in awe while Aragon completed his song. He arranged for Aragon to play for the Lady Cerina. The lady was well impressed with the skill of the young man and she personally requested that he play for her Fey Majesty. It was while at court that he met the elven maid Alyssa, handmaiden of lady Cerina, and apprentice to Cerina’s court mage. The two shared many days and nights of frivolity, young love sweet and innocent. The Lady Cerina had need to return to her manors, Alyssa made ready for their trip. The night before her departure she visited Aragon, bringing him a gift, a cloak she had woven. She told him that it held great magic to keep him hidden while in the wild. He gave her a necklace of silver, inset with a small emerald to match her hair and eyes. That night the innocence of youth was left behind in their desperate passion. Though they have not met since, Aragon has never forgotten his first love…
Three days after the departure of the Lady Cerina, Aragon left the court of her Fey Majesty. Now 16 years of age, he traveled the length and breadth of the land performing to pay his way. It was while he was performing at the Inn of All Roads, in Greyhawk City, that a group of young elves entered and sought a table. Aragon completed his song and surveyed the room. His eyes locked on that of a young elf, a look of recognition came over both of their faces in that instant; finally he had found Patch!!! The pair reflected on their previous meetings, and speculated on the future. (Their first journey together has been detailed in “The Tale of the ‘Scythe’”, and I would direct the learned reader to peruse that text)
Not much time had passed since the pair had awakened in the Inn of All Roads, and they again began to look to the horizon and sought out adventure. Small and relatively insignificant forays into the sewers beneath the grey city, and a short jaunt down the Wild Coast, and they grew hardened, better prepared for the life of travels and travails before them. They learned to depend on each other’s skills, and melded them together, each being able to anticipate the others actions. Their ability grew, and their names had been whispered about the Jewel of the Flanaess, as their fame began to grow. Aragon often insisted, much to Patch’s chagrin, that they take rest bits in the larger cities of the Flan, though usually in Greyhawk itself. Here they could mend their wounds, seek instruction to increase their ability, and get much needed rest. Aragon was worried still about the blade that Patch had found. He had not discussed the blade overmuch with the young elf, fearing that if Patch knew what he did, that the forces that drive the blade might be able to wrest him fully, and twist him to their purposes. He believe that these short holidays gave Patch enough time away from wielding the hellblade “Scythe”, to allow his companion’s soul to heal and recover. True enough, that, as these breaks seem to bring back much of Patch’s good nature.
During the majority of these stops, Aragon would seek out other bards to learn more songs and stories, and still he spent much time on stage. It was while entertaining at the Golden Phoenix that Aragon bemused a beautiful lady. The lady requested an audience with him after seeing several performances. Aragon was introduced to Larissa Hunters, Magistrate of Dyvers. The Lady spoke highly with Aragon, giving many flattering verses of praise to the young man. The two met often from that point, though the relationship had been purely platonic. Aragon fell in love with the lady, and he too thought she did love him, but her duties called her back to Dyvers. Aragon would not leave with her, his wanderer’s soul, and sense of purpose held him to what he perceived as his duty. On the night of the Lady’s last stay in town, Aragon gave what came to be his last performance at the Golden Phoenix. Prior to mounting the stage, Larissa met him, as had become their custom, though this time she brought with her a lute of roan wood, inset with silver and gold. The instrument was of such exceptional quality, that Aragon had a tear come to his eye when he first played it (at least that was his excuse). The pair shared a brief kiss and embrace before Larissa took her seat. That night, Aragon gave arguably the best performance of his yet young life. The lute sang as if the voice of Lydia. After his performance, Aragon sought out Larissa, only to find a handkerchief with the crest of Dyvers, and the lips shaped stain in the deep crimson of Velunian Fire Amber. His heart sank as his second love had parted from his life. He carries this kerchief with him at all times, tucked away in a pocket kept close to his heart.
Aragon had caught wind of an excursion heading to the Dry Steppes, traveling to Tovag-Baragu, to try and unravel some of its secrets. A group of druids and magi hoped to harness the arcane energy for divination, both of the past of the Flan, and to uncover events that are currently weaving their way through the lands. Aragon queried a bit on what was to be observed, and found that not a few battles from the various wars that have plagued Oerik were to be studied. He nearly jumped at the opportunity, and asked but a moment to find his friend Patch. Patch was eager to get out of town, and readily agreed to accompany Aragon on this quest…
City of the Bakluni
Aragon and Patch met with the Druid Sorals and the mage Yontis to discuss the trip before them. The young duo had in mind a small party of doughty adventurers that would join for a small fee and a cut of the proceeds. This was to comprise one of the many scouting parties the entourage would require for safe passage, and thorough examination of the ancient form and surrounding area. They were given two weeks to gather those they trusted and deemed of sufficient ability to brave the hardships ahead…
The sun was blazing high overhead, shadows almost non-existent in the midday glare. The horses, now accustomed to the climate, beat a fair pace through the sands, but the riders, hot, sweaty, and irritable, grow a bit lax in their awareness. Patch, grumbling, remembering the jaunt in the Sea of Dust, calls out to Aragon. The young human cuts him short with a signal; he strains as if trying to hear something then calls for a halt of the group. A rider is sent back to the main procession, Aragon is sure that ahead there is an ambush. He and Patch, along with Quelsich, a human mage, and Orthin, an elven druid, had ranged ahead last night on their night patrol, just over the dunes now ahead of them. It is there that Aragon is sure an attack will come. Warned, the small wagon train prepares for the upcoming battle. The skirmish lasted all of the afternoon and into the evening. When finally the attackers were repelled, clearly half of the wagons had been destroyed, along with most of the provisions of food and water. The druids could provide such, but only in limited quantity, the trail must be abandoned lest they die of hunger and thirst in the desert. In the light of the following day, as the caravan rested, it was discovered where the raiders had come from. Their camp was hastily pulled up, still the thought that some of their provisions might be left, perhaps enough for a smaller troupe to continue. Provisions were not found, but after sifting through the top layers of sand, a flat solid rock was found, this with another, and yet another… a wall!!! Here the group was split; most wanted to return for provisions, and come back, while Aragon, Patch, and a few others wanted to explore the depths of the building they had found. Those that stayed with the pair were Quelsich, Orthin, Derrik Steelbiter (a dwur warrior), Wasniz (a hobniz thief), as well as Beragond, and Ren and Ran whom where with the pair in their excursion to the Suelite wastes. Sorals and Yontis gave the party a small share of what provisions were left, but took their mounts when they departed, heading back for greener pastures.
The building the party entered was a dry and dusty place, being shallow in the sand; it was also incredibly hot. The magical light shed by the weavings of Quelsich and Orthin showed a once grand chamber, now reduced to ruin. It was obviously an observatory, as witnessed by the ruined telescopes, and other astronomical/astrological paraphernalia that was found. Orthin found a sliding panel on the floor that gave access to the lower levels of what is obviously a tower. Descending the stairs, the air was stale, the steps full of dust that kicked up as they tread downward, and the temperatures quickly began to cool. Orthin had prayed over a pair of small stones that were placed in the holders of specially designed lanterns. The light these stone gave was cool and white, and could be directed or shuttered quickly. Descending about 50’ a room, mostly filled with sand, allowed the party a moments rest. The room appeared to be a study as the partial remains of a desk is found, the contents of the desk having been stolen away long before. Once again the troupe headed downward, another 70’ or more, not even Derrik could tell in these strange environs, and the stairs ended in a small landing with a locked door. Wasniz quickly picked the lock and the door opened to a large chamber, larger by far than either of the others they had seen. The constructions in this place were obviously much newer (and quite a bit more crude) than what had been seen above. It is obviously a temple, the altar and walls decorated with strange landscapes. Blue grasses, green sky’s, a red sun, and orange oceans. Later scenes show a people in turmoil, a great conflict, the sky filled with black clouds, still others depicting a great plain of grass changing to yellow desert. Whole cities being destroyed, some surviving if only barely, only to be engulfed by the approaching sands. The final set of paintings show a people being led below ground as the desert quickly engulfs their cities. A woman in white robes leads these people, and gathers them before her in great chambers below the desert, some few cities that had been spared, and a grand series of tunnels. This same woman stands behind the altar, an image set in marble, holding forth her arms as if to embrace her following.
Aragon is able to discern some of what is written, it is in a strange Bakluni script, what he could not actually read he improvised as he spoke to his companions. “Come to me O my children, let me lead you to the safety of the soft embrace of the earth. Together we shall survive this peril wrought by the accursed Suelite warlords. And together we shall one-day rise up again to conquer the accursed ones. Let us not forget that which has happened, here in Tolas-Valiga we shall preserve the ancient ways, and protect the ancient works, and we shall strive to undo that which has befallen us. But this above all else, we shall locate that which will again show us the power of the Invisible Fire,” here he paused, a look of mixed excitement and of horror fills his face. Seeing his companions looking at him, unknowingly he continued, “Let no one stray from our holy task, let none stay our hand. Ours is the rightful hand, ours is the holy.”
Still other texts were found and interpreted. These texts detailed the ceremonies and rituals for their goddess, the Lady of Salvation, Erinda. It was obvious, that this woman deified herself to these people, and it is noted that she survived 300 hundred years after the Invoked Devastation brought about by the Suelite mages. She mysteriously disappeared from her realms below the sands, thus solidifying her place amongst these people as a goddess. Aragon had searched the altar as the others searched about the room, he found a secret compartment, which he opened and found a pair of ancient scrolls. These, contained in a bone case, he unrolled slightly and noted that they contained a magical script. Remembering what was said in the first inscription he translated a great feeling of dread came over him. He quickly replaced the scrolls into their tubes, and seeing that no one had seen him with the scrolls, he placed them in his pack for further perusal at a later date.
Derrik located a foyer behind one of the tapestries. This ended in an ornate door, a silver mirror adorning this side, graven with the image of Erinda motioning her people onward. The door opened easily, beyond was an eerily lit street. A pinkish glow of unknown origin filled the landscape, High above, suspended by some form of magic, was a sea of sand. The sand completely engulfs the city, only some of the highest spires not protected from its immense weight. Wonder fills their eyes, thinking of the surface far above, when a movement causes them to tense and grasp tighter to their blades.
Wasniz quickly pointed out the direction that the figure moved off in and the party started to follow after it. The tracks it left were humanoid of a size between that of an elf and human. Walking the streets, keeping eyes to the rooftops, the party followed these tracks, suddenly realizing in the poor light that the tracks were quite numerous, the city was alive! No longer able to determine if they followed the correct set of tracks, the party continued to mill about, hoping to find one of these beings that would be willing to communicate. There was a sharp whistling sound from a rooftop, and the party stopped, tensed, and formed a circle at Aragon’s quick order. From the rooftops, and in the streets, hundreds of faces suddenly appeared. Filled with wonder, awe, and fear, these human-like figures stood holding swords, spears, staves of alabaster, or slim wands. They approached the party, murmuring to each other in a strange tongue that no one in the party could translate. The group held their ground, not willing to start hostilities with a force this large. A figure dressed in white robes by all appearances female, approaches the party and holds up her hand, “Ildos, yelinme zary goosh tikta?”
The party looked at the woman, still uncomprehending until Aragon stepped foreword, a look of bewilderment in his eyes. “Desure, ikta Aragon, ys,” he waves at the party, “poqi alridos xelf txada uhglish.” The woman’s face scrunches a bit as she tries to understand Aragon. Aragon turns to the party, “It’s Baklunish, or at least that is its root. She asked who we are, and I replied, giving my name, and saying that we have come from the world above, under the sky.”
Suddenly the woman turns to the natives of the city, shouting something, they all fall to their knees, she turns back and falls as well, burying her face in the ground; she begins to mumble, asking for forgiveness for their impertinence. Aragon and the party are taken aback at this sudden worship, Aragon helps the lady to her feet once again and explains that they are not gods, but people, like themselves. A long discourse takes place betwixt the group and this woman, and the elders of the buried city. Aragon is able to convince them that they are not gods, but rather survivors. That the world above was not destroyed by the war with the Suelites as they had thought, but that sections were ravaged, and there were those that fled the devastation. Days pass as they meet and learn of each other, the Baklori, as they had called themselves, were first unwilling to accept what the party was telling them. They first began to believe the stories of the party when Beragond called on the power of his god to bring forth a grand feast for the elders and party to eat. The only god(dess) they knew and believed in was Erinda, and though many miracles could be performed in her name, this was one that could not. Finally, the Baklori believed what the party had told them, and for the first time, they all shared true trust.
More days pass as Aragon gave what history he could to the elders, whom would decide what and when to disseminate the information to their people. Aragon sought permission for the party to explore the city, which was given, noting that the tunnels leading out of the city would be off limits unless they were accompanied by a delegate from the council. The party agreed, and began to explore the city, as was their want. Aragon naturally sought out the great library of Erinda, and dove into the manuscripts there. He was amazed at the tails of the wars, though he took great care not to be clouded by the writer’s assessment of all the battles, since the writer was of course, Bakluni. As he delved further into the depths of the shelves, the subject matter began to change. History gave way to research. Aragon found a scroll set authored by Erinda, entitled “The Aleph, Language of Power”. Not a few of the scrolls had already crumbled to dust, but some few remained. As he began to peruse these texts he drew the connection to that which he found in the temple to this goddess. He carefully tucked these away in his pack…
The ground trembled, dust fell from above. Aragon and the others heard shouts from the streets. Scrambling from their rooms they looked to see the statue of Erinda moving through town, it’s footsteps causing the tremors. It heads for the party, a look, if a statue can change the look on its face, a mask of rage. The statue calls out “BLASPHEMERS YOU SHALL PERISH FOR YOUR IMPUDENCE!” The people of the city move quickly from it’s wake, some though not quickly enough, they are trampled under it’s feet, left unmoving. A great battle ensues between the party and the statue of the goddess. Aragon shouting orders to the others not to use some of their more devastating spells, they must take care not to harm the populace, or upset the magic that holds the sand above. The warrior Ren fell before the might of this avatar, Wasniz retreated, his wounds most grievous. The magic wielded by the statue wreaked havoc on the city square, and killed many bystanders. Patch, his eyes red, brought Scythe down in a terrible blow as harried the creature. The blow from Scythe managed to shatter one of the legs of the statue, which then toppled, exploding in millions of shards of stone. Still more of the citizens died from the shrapnel, as another building collapsed, its support finally giving way from the flames put to by Erinda’s statue. Beragond rushed to the side of the warrior Ren, praying over his body so that death would not take it’s icy hold for some time. He looked at Patch and Ran, “We must get him inside so I can try to clean his wounds and heal him. My preservation will last for a day or two, but it will be the will of the gods, and his own strength that will tells us if he will live.
Two factions arose in the city, one praising the party for saving them, the other, led by the high priestess of Erinda, blaming them for bring the wrath of their goddess down upon them. The party was again under the protective orders of the council, and was placed under house arrest. The council did not strip the party of their equipment and weapons, but extracted a promise from them not to bring such to bear unless they were first attacked. Aragon gave his word, and his rapier to the elder, promising that the party would not invoke hostilities, and if such did occur, that the elders could slay him with his own blade.
The days passed, and Ren turned for the worse, for the entire night he tossed, a fever burning, cold sweat pouring from his body. The party prepared for the worst. In the morning, Ran came charging out of his twin’s room, calling for Beragond, shouting that Ren was up, and asking for food! The party rejoiced and celebrated the return of their friend from near death. It was later that day that the elders came to the party to tell them of the discussion that had been reached. They party was to be expelled from the city, for a period of not less five years. They could choose the way by which they would exit the protected area of the city, and could not return before the five years had passed. If they did such, they would be immediately executed. Aragon’s face fell, obviously he wished to delve deeper into the libraries.
The party consulted and determined that they wanted to return to the surface, and try to make their way back from there. Pol-inda, high priestess of Erinda, was adamant, she would not let them again pass through the temple of her goddess; she was, however, over ruled by the council of elders. She and one of the elders would be allowed to accompany the party to ensure that they did not desecrate the temple. She agreed, with protest. The day of departure came and the party, along with the elder and Pol-inda entered the temple. Once inside followers of Pol-inda attacked them, she cast a silence spell over the building entrance so those outside would not hear the sounds of battle. The elder was quickly slain, and the party pushed back by the onslaught. A trap door opened beneath them and they plunged into darkness…
The party landed on something hard, their heads swam, and they lost consciousness for a moment. When they came to, they found themselves in a dark cavern, a mausoleum, surrounded by the mummified remains of previous inhabitants of the city. The crypts had been ravaged in the past, and most everything of value already stripped. A pair of the coffins remained unopened, and the party investigated these. One held a warlord, holding a shield, and a brilliant sword, Ran claimed these for his own, while the other held a smaller figure. This had a rapier in it’s grasp, Aragon could tell that this blade was enchanted, and being the only member of the party that used this blade, it was given unto him. The figure also had a strange belt; this belt had a pocket that opened to show a much larger area than that which it should have. The pockets of the belt were filled with various items of mundane sort. Aragon was going to present the belt to Quelsich when he turned, catching his pack on the sharp corner of the crypt, tearing it. The party laughed, and Quelsich told him to keep it, it looked as if he would need it. Aragon quickly gathered up his things, slyly checking the scroll tubes in which he placed those items he found above, they were undamaged. Again ready for travel, the party turned to find a way out.
The tomb robbers that came before them had tunneled from above. The party was able to follow this tunnel, just able to crawl through its narrow confines. It led upwards, into an ancient sewer line, long since dry. From here the party had access to the city above, but knew if discovered, they would be executed, not only for breaking exile, but they knew the treacherous Pol-inda would blame them for the death of the elder. Wasniz took the lead and began to explore the tunnels, eventually finding an exit near the temple-tower; the sewage line leading up into the tower itself proved to be much to small for the humans to climb. This area of the city was not heavily traveled, and as such, they decided it would be their best way to attempt exit. Quelsich was able to create an illusion on the far side of the square to draw the attention of the city dwellers. This image was of the battle between the party and the statue of Erinda. As the others ran into the temple, he maintained the image, eventually causing it to move quickly around a corner, having the crowd follow it. As he lost sight of the image, it dissipated, and he sprinted into the temple. As Quelsich slammed the door shut, he saw someone from the crowd turn and look straight at him…
The party ascended the tower, and had to dig out a small drift that had formed. The cool air rushing in, and the soft glow outside told them it was night. Aragon had Wasniz scatter a fresh layer of sand on the floor below to mask their tracks, and they again buried the entrance to the city. Aragon looked with sad eyes as the last of the doorway was covered, knowing he would probably never again be able to find his way to return five years hence. Still, there was the treck before them, the long walk through the wastes back to the green pastures of the Flan…
They would have perished in the sand if it were not for the Bakluni nomadic tribe Balsti. This tribe took in the wanders close to death, and nursed them to health. They did of course, charge the rich easterners enormous amounts of gold for the food and water provided. The learned that they were not far from the hills south of Kester, and the cool green pastures of Ull, and that the party could accompany them there, for a price. Eager to be out of the desert, they gladly paid over to the nomads what little gold they had left. Wasniz utilized his talents to procure a few coins and gems from the other in the caravan, this though he kept to himself, not telling even the dwur.
A week later they reached Kester and took their leave of the caravan. Purchasing mounts there, they traveled north to Ullakand, then to Lopolla in Ket. Through the Bramblewood, where they were attacked by a band of goblins and orcs, eventually landing in Thornward. The party stayed at Thornward for a fortnight, recovering finally from their ordeals. Beragond departed at Veluna City, heading for Littleberg, and then to Chendl. Quelsich and Orthin left as well, heading for Highfolk and the Vesve. At Verbobonc, Wasniz and Derrick took their leave, vowing to meet up with the party again in Greyhawk, but stopping for the winter at Wasniz’s home in the Kron Hills.
The Aftermath of the Wars
Hard times had come to the Flan; wars cropped up throughout the Flanaess. Aragon gave assistance to the Knights of the Heart in planning their battles, but was not allowed to actually lead the troops since he was not a knight himself. The wars began to come to an end, while Aragon was consulting with some of the elven warlords in the Vesve. The Pact of Greyhawk was to bring official end to the wars; the rulers of most of the nations involved were attending this. The map of the Flan had changed greatly, Aragon, not being invited to the celebration and official signings stopped at Stalmaer to check on his family and friends. While resting he heard a terrible sound, and felt a horrible pain. He heard the sounds of battle, and of men dying. He heard his father cry out in pain, and then all was quiet again. He knew then that something horrible had happened. He quickly gathered his equipment, and got his horse readied, heading for Greyhawk.
During his travel storms came in from the west. They grew in intensity until he had no choice but to search for shelter. He found a small overhang and cave that he and his horse could fit under. He dismounted and pulled the pack and saddle from his mount, his body aching from the long days of travel without stop. This, his third horse was the strongest of them yet, though not of such quality as he would have preferred. Hobbling the horse he explored the shallow cave, finding signs of an ancient camp, and a leather satchel. Opening the pack he found a brilliant silver horn, on which he could sense a magical aura. Shrugging he stored the instrument in his saddle pack, and brought forth his favorite Lute, a gift from the Lady Larissa. He played a light tune, but his hopes of it cheering his ailing spirit were not fulfilled. He slept through the storm, and all the next day. When he arose, he quickly saddled up and mounted his steed, heading for the grey city.
Arriving in the city, he first sought out Patch at the Inn of All Roads, hoping to hear news from him of what has happened. Patch told his friend of the treachery of Rary and Robilar, and of his father’s grievous wounds. Aragon was not prepared to find his father missing an arm. Robilar himself had severed the arm in the battle that followed the treachery at the pact signing. Immediately all Aragon could think of was revenge, but cooler heads prevailed and he was restrained. Swearing to avenge his father, and all of those that perished at the celebration of peace, Aragon looked to his father and his friend for council. It was months before Goran could travel, returning to Stalmaer with his son and Patch at his side. The pair stayed at the keep until Goran could take again his duties. Returning to the city of hawks to learn what information they could, and to start the long journey to vengeance.
Through the years since, there have been many skirmishes with the minions of the traitors as they sought them out, as well as outright attacks on Aragon and his companions as they travel the Flan, or rest in Greyhawk. No small amount of fame (or is that infamy) has been accorded Aragon and Patch as they fight these forces. Robilar had set up a small base inside the city walls. It was discovered by Patch, and the pair led the forces that destroyed the followers of the evil warrior. Fame though can be a double-edged sword, and while thought of as celebrities, they are often feared, not for themselves, but for the trouble that seems to follow them. Currently Aragon and Patch are staying at the Silver Dragon Inn in the Foreign Quarter. Their accommodations are being paid for, but by whom the pair doesn’t know. They have a pair of suites that were modified into a single large suite, each with their own bedroom, and a common room between them. Aragon often performs in the Silver Dragon’s halls at the request of the current 1/2elf bard Nirifel Meldarin. Nirifel is a striking woman, and an exceptional performer. The duo still pays Button Butternut for their rooms there, but has temporarily moved here to try and uncover the mystery before them…
