Journal Posts

Begging and Pleading
Failure, but not disapproval yet. Trying again... "Please, O Great Shaper... give me your blessing."

d20 + 8 => [18] = 26

Dice Rolls => Results = Total
d20 + 8 => [18] = 26
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It's just crazy enough to work... the Mother willing
Thorgar mumbled something about going to fetch a broom and dustpan, and withdrew from the group. He mumbled to himself: "This just can't stand! There's got to be something I can do to fix this. If only I could throw my hammer a wee bit further... I'd give those wan harlots the thrashing they deserved."

Suddenly, he remembered tales his friends had told him about their fallen friend Gwydain, and the holy weapon born from his final sacrifice. That sword is still up there on the ship! "Well, this is a long shot, but surely the Great Shaper would like to her daughter's blade put to good use? Mother, bless my endeavors.

Blessing: d20 + 8 => [2] = 10
Dice Rolls => Results = Total
d20 + 8 => [2] = 10
Session: How do you feel about the mother? - Thursday, Jul 18 2013 from 12:00 AM to 3:00 AM
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Not Happy!
A Mother loves all but sadly sometimes she is taken for granted. The mother has no followers converted in 24 hours. No lepers have been cured. No deference has been shown.

Therefore disfavor shall remain at 5 for all her followers until such time as she is shown respect in the manner indicated on her most holy guidance.

Session: How do you feel about the mother? - Thursday, Jul 18 2013 from 12:00 AM to 3:00 AM
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Out of the catacombs for now...
I am wondering how the town's folk will react if and when we return from the place that no one returns from. With the Mother's power and blessing we have left the infernal place, but have yet to provide its owner his final gift of return to the great cycle.

We will rest and re-equip for a return foray. It will be curious to see if the place will be in the same state we left it. Would the owner be more inclined to allow us back in or try to bolster its defenses? Only time will tell. We have located a likely place where it might be found. Its guardian defeated, at least for the time when we left.

I feel a need to seek a place away from the influence of the magic of the town and the ship. Particularly the ship. Find a place where I might meditate and seek the will of the Mother. Perhaps find a place to sanctify that isn't below ground or in an ancient ruin.

I see if I can draw Thorgar away from the cursed anvil. It has its uses but it corrupts his natural talents for shaping the Mother's many gifts. Perhaps he will travel a small distance away from the town with me. Adric will be "pre-occupied" and Jack will likely want to spend time with his nose buried in some book from the ship's library. With the Mother's will I shall not find any challenge or danger too great on my own.
Session: How do you feel about the mother? - Thursday, Jul 18 2013 from 12:00 AM to 3:00 AM
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Meditation against Killer Curtains, Demons and other assorted troubles...
The Mother guides us well with prudent pleas for her benevolent assistance. For a while I knew the nature of every enchantment that might try to foul or path. She has sent back to the abyss several guardians summoned by the creators of this loathsome place. To do her will we have been restored to vigor. She has sanctified a place where we might seek sanctuary.

We had heard rumors of the legions of our predecessors whom came before us. Made servants, or food, by the keeper of this foul place. We have yet to meet them but the design of this place is such that I doubt it will be on favorable terms. By the strength of the Mother may we overcome them and give them her final mercy!
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The things below...
The unholy garden has been taken by the Mother as hers. What remains still stinks but has a more organic feel. At least we have a place to retreat if need be. A few rods further demonstrated that this is a very good thing to have.

I noted that if I never saw or smelled the sea again I could be content for the rest of my life. This goes for anything with tentacles as well. The Mad God we work against must hold these things holy because time and time again they seem to be springing up in the oddest places.

Thorin's armor worked well, too well. When two of the tentacled things grabbed him they nearly became his mill stone. Another horror "cursed" him to breath water, which was fine until he again was in the air. Jack had a temporary similar affliction.

Adric was lucky not to be dragged to the depths. It is good his bow returns to his hand as well. I am not sure anyone would really have wanted to fish it out of the water.

Jack was able to convince the horror, or at least the remaining horror, that its continued existence depended on it leaving us be. Between the garden, the pit trap and this "little pond" we are bridging I am beginning to appreciate the lack of persons returning to tell the tale.
Session: Knock Knock, Who's There?, Shiroz... - Thursday, Jun 20 2013 from 12:00 AM to 3:00 AM
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Tags: Recap
Gardening...or plowing
Here we are in yet another place of abomination. Flame or frost? Which kills plants needing no light better? May the Mother guide or steps as we lay these corruptions low.
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Visions in Crystal

An odd figure appeared in the crystal ball. The unnamed one, the corrupter. Why would the Mother let me see this? Other than to promise a way back to our time. Is it truth or trap, it seems the unnamed one has much to gain from our success. Or at least it claims to be working in common thread to the Mother.
Session: Under the gaze of. .... - Thursday, May 23 2013 from 12:00 AM to 3:00 AM
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Quests and Complications
I had been longing for some prolonged time with solid soil under my boots, we are finally in a place where this is a possibility. We have landed several leagues away from a small village not unlike the ones three of us are from. There are less trees, more scattered and all cold weather varieties and more elvo.

The kiss of the giant has made Adric fast friends with one of the locals. A comely woman to be sure and evidently quite skilled in some of the "arts" of her particular trade. There is something more to her, with the number of potential suitors, or clients, in this place she would hardly starve but neither would she gather the fortune that she might in a larger place.

She presents another complication in another way, if not from the speed at which a bond was made from concerns about who this person really is. Through mutual magics of binding it would be hard to convince either that the other is not their soul bound. I obliged my friend to have the Mother and her children bless the union.

Adric now has a wife by the custom of our people. If elvo are anything like men Adric will have a first born in the coming spring. The women folk always said that an enthusiastic bride makes an heir. My eldest brother's bride was so before she passed with my brother's third in her.

The others have found things to pass the time as well with nearly equal enthusiasm. Jack has found the time and the place to build his skills. Serving as his spotter from being sucked into the void has its moments but is mostly giving a polite social nod to whatever has caught his attention.

The dwarf Thorgar seems almost bound to the magic anvil. The Mother's gifts and their use is how he knows her and not a bad thing. Even the Mother is willing to harness a creature of the void to her will if it suits her. So I suppose on of her servants using a possessed anvil might be something she would bless in her own way. He has managed to make some improved armor, destroying the suit bought for me in the big city in the process and the claw I had selected for the dagger. The similarity between my three of my now six traveling companions is somewhat unnerving.

One troll remains with us with the other freed as the Mother willed. The Mother's scruff of her pup was received with proper reverence. As we plan our next major endeavor, ending the existence of a powerful soul sucking undead overlord, she rewarded my desire to participate in a way similar to my companions by giving us a sign of the scale of the task ahead of us. With a beam of her blessing the entirety of a rain barrel now shimmers with her presence. Now if we can only keep "Ted" from drinking it.

Blind Jake seems to be adequately amused to be the bond night monitor for the newlyweds. The ship makes up for what his long lost eyes have lost. I think he likes what he feels.

As I may be the only one who has really been focus on what the Mother wills us to do I sense a great deal more caution, a longer stalk, is called for. From the villager we have heard of the horror of traveling to where we intend. No details of real use.

I think we might take a bit more time to prepare for our next hunt. Rushing headlong into the chase will likely only yield horns and hooves. I will suggest to Adric and Jack that perhaps we embark on some shorter forays to gain a better sense of what we are, like pups, too eager to give chase to. The Mother has told me it is time to learn.

If Adric's wife accompanies us maybe she will reveal more of her true nature. Bound as tightly to Adric as she is a certain degree of trust will be needed. Perhaps she can gain some skills of use if she is the courtesan she claims to be. I'm sure Adric would be happy to refresh the innate instincts for bows that most elvo possess.

It might be prudent to spend two or three moons learning the lay of the land between here and our objective. Approach dangers in a less foolhardy manner. Learn what we can before we burn the scourge from the land, it will be good practice for future endeavors the Mother has foretold.
Session: My Name is Ted.... - Thursday, May 09 2013 from 12:00 AM to 3:00 AM
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Oh, I'll spell check with the Crystal Ball and think of the farm in our time. d20 + 9 => [18] = 27

A view of untended farmland stretches across Old Man Robert's farm. A dark shape huddles against the sun and lopes across the muddy ground. Heavily warted hands pull ragged robes up to help it hobble along. In the distance the darkened homestead sits, perhaps abandoned as no one seems to dwell there now......

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The next lesson
Clive found himself bound in place by fear. His body morphing through the ages of the dream thus far, the child, the boy and the man he had become. The Mother loomed before him, the one of many faces, but now the angry crone.

"Did you sense the unease when you tied my servant into this thing?" asked the Mother as a rhetorical question. "You man beasts are far too dismissive of the value of things beyond your immediate grasp. You were born in this life as a man. Men are weak creatures, always seeking the easy path, taking more than their share, taking more than what they earn, ungrateful...ungrateful creatures!

Why I did not snuff your flame when the first of you infested my lands! You breed like the hunted but act like hunters! Vermin, most of you common vermin! Not like my servants, my guardians! That finger that pierced your chest was MY FINGER man cub! DO YOU UNDERSTAND!!!!

The boy Clive whimpered a tearful "yes" in reply. A twinge of pain where the troll had ripped through him began. The Mother's most rageful forms softened, glimpses of the beautiful one were brief but present. Still the crone continued her rebuke of Clive.

"If it were not for ones of your kind like you I would crush the skulls of the last of your kind! There are tests to prove your worth Clive of the Double Trees yet to be. You must prove your self worthy, you must prove yourself as more than a man cub! This is your first lesson, if you survive you will continue to serve me in this existence that has been taken from its first purpose. If you die your next memories will be the warmth of your mother's teat deep in the den, you have earned that at least. Grown from the runt of the man cub litter to who you are, my man cub servant!"

Her form continued to soften, the maiden and crone flickering in equal time. Images of the other women in Clive's life joining as the maiden had before.

"Your friend is so typical of men. Chasing the power of something he cannot comprehend. When he died his form changed did it not? You saw the gift, a delay in my final blessing. His spirit might continue if he does not keep feeding himself to the void. Like you are feeding my servant now!"

The boy Clive and the familiar and comforting sights of the home he knew in another time and place were replaced as waking dream. The Mother lead Clive to the large portals. To the others Clive seemed to be in a restless dream.

The Mother gestured widely towards the aft of the vessel, "this thing is a corruption." Gentle stroking the well placed old wood her form softened so the crone was now absent from her visage. "A good use of my gifts by mortals but a perversion still. It might still serve a purpose to fulfill my will. But no one uses my guardians as nourishment for one of its servants."

For the moment she spoke of whatever, "its" was her form shifted to the hideous form of her anger. It softened to the maiden as she again focused on Clive.

"You will free the bound one and the one your friend beguiled. I will not have their durable spirits fed to a creature of the void feed out vilest enemy in any way. The abomination you survived as you came upon this vessel or any like it are more suitable."

Clive found he and the Mother now on the deck in front of the suffering troll. She grew and stroked its brow as her form flickered between one Clive knew and one no doubt beautiful in the eyes of a troll.

As she caressed troll she continued to speak to Clive, "tie as many men to those posts as you wish, any thinking being of your choosing. Not my servants except for you as a penance or if you or the shaper is willing to feed bits of his essence to power this thing. Do so only if it pleases me. Carefully measure what a man would value versus what I would."

Clive and the Mother now were observers of Thorgar. The Mother's form again morphed to fit a hybrid of Clive's understanding and that of the dwarf.

"He knows me differently than you do," noted the Mother with a smile, "you saved him from the void. But only you can save yourself Clive of the Doubletrees."

Again they found themselves on the deck of the flying ship, "take the trolls place as a gesture of your devotion. Feel the pain you inflicted. Feel the presence of the things that must be kept in check."

Fading from the deck to a forest glen Clive sensed the dream was nearly over, "If you live, I might bless your efforts to end the existence of the corrupt being that has captured your friends attention. Teach the man he was of the folly of defying my will. Let others learn from his foolishness. Let his fortress fall to my will. If your devotion is strong enough it will be so, if not you will pass from this world from my touch! To be reborn as I have said, your role as a man is of no further use to me."

The maiden reached out and touched the spot where the trolls claw had exited Clive's chest. Clive awoke with a start with a spot of blood on his fingers when he checked the sight of the wound. He knew what he must do to regain the Mother's favor or die as a man.
Session: My Name is Ted.... - Thursday, May 09 2013 from 12:00 AM to 3:00 AM
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Wraith of the Mother...
As Clive retired for the evening, at least until the time of his watch, as he passed the lumbering hulk of the troll now happily swabbing the deck of the ship as it passed through the air. As his companion growled and moaned in protest from the bonds imposed on it, Clive swore that the beguiled one was speaking words of assurance its way. A feeling of unease, even dread, gnawed at his gut. Perhaps magic sausage has its drawbacks.

Clive climbed to the bunk that hand once been held by the dark elf female, her scent was still present, albeit fading, Clive pulled the Cloak of Taldia around him. Adric's curse had made finding even a casual acquaintance to warm the bed with him complicated. Clive figured Adric could at least deal with the stench of the half man as a little return in payment.

To his pleasant surprise sleep did not evade Clive. The wound inflicted by the now mopping troll was at most an all too fresh memory. As he drifted off to sleep the voice of a rhyme his mother would sing danced in his head.

"The first for the land, the second for another, the third for the Gods, the fourth for the loss of a brother." He remembered his mother singing it to his younger brother. Clive knew that his birthplace played a large roll in the time his grandmother devoted to him. She was the village healer, the one who prayed for rain, the one who prayed for the wolves to stay at bay. She was old, Clive was the third son, the third brother.

As his mother's voice faded Clive was a boy of five or six summers. Sitting in his father's chair in his absence. Something his grandmother would permit in her presence, unless his father were home. Grandmother said it was the best place in the small house to watch from. Clive like the fact it also was the place where he might get the first of the bread from the oven, the first of a batch of treats, before his elder brothers would arrive to claim their share.

As if almost on cue one of his childhood favorites appeared. A blueberry muffin. Made from the blueberries he and grandmother had picked earlier. Outside of a dream, in a time and place yet to be, likely that same morning.

With the appearance of the muffin came his grandmother's voice. "Clive you have done well, but their is still much to learn. Someone needs to speak with you. I have taught you all I can. Like the day your father took you to the fields, enjoy your muffin."

Clive remembered one of the last times he and grandmother had picked the first blueberries of the season was in his thirteenth summer. That winter grandmother left the mortal presence of the family. Clive continued to study from time to time under a woman, his father's cousin who had learned from his grandmother in the past. But Clive began to enjoy time behind the plow, between her five children and her lack of both knowledge and patience there was little she had to offer aside from being a pale imitation of grandmother.

Clive expected in some way to be swarmed by younger children. But he found himself alone. Still a boy. In a much smaller chair. In the dark except for the light from the doorway. A woman's form blocked the doorway, at first alluring, welcoming if not provocative. As she morphed into a crone more terrifying than any he had meet since the fates ripped Clive from his path. Her voice pierced and penetrated his soul, "you have done well with your grandmother's teaching, perhaps well enough to run with Mara's pack. Or at least to be reborn as a whelp of a wolf bitch."

The crone's figure loomed closer. Shifting to ever more horrid forms interspersed with absolute beauty. "But you are still a man pup, Clive Doubletree, promising but still with much to learn..." Clive's new teacher had arrived and she was very angry.

Session: Dragon Boots Anyone? - Thursday, Apr 25 2013 from 12:00 AM to 3:00 AM
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The Ship.

Taking Stock:

Through studying the ship thoroughly you discover the ship is a research vessel for a wizard by the name of Terigamar. It has the following features/contents:

~Black Wood beams and decks.
~A research lab devoted to the production of potions (+5 on all checks)
~Wizards quarters with a research library (+5 all checks) and a pedestal of ever-filling wine (10 uses/day).
~One dead blind helmsmen.
~A large crystal ball on a brass and gold tripod.
~A large spellbook (warded).
~A boxed anvil with a chaos symbol on the side.
~A elemental cupboard with refreshing spring water, sausage, cheese, & bread (5 uses/day).
~A warded door in the rear of the lab carved in a star pattern.
~A large telescope on a tripod.
~A warded demon mast.
~An attractive carved wooden 4 armed woman on the prow of the ship painted in bright colors.
~Dragon blood stains.


d20 => [10] = 10
Dice Rolls => Results = Total
d20 => [10] = 10
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There be dragons...
I still write these memory papers for my grandmother, although I doubt she will ever read them. Still it helps me connect with her long earned wisdom and her spirit.

The Mother blessed us with safe passage from the cursed place of the beast, the place we are has bound memory papers and in the quite of the hours the volumes on beasts drew my attention. The beast resembled a "leviathan" but for size. The one we escaped was much larger.

Our escape was made on an odd ship, a sky ship. Made of dark woods and bound by sorcery I must admit the vessels shape has a handsome and eye pleasing line. But the same aesthetic marks it as the work of the Fae of the shadows, the same who made Adric's bow.

Its lines remind me of the darters and glisten flies of the streams and ponds of home. Vastly larger, but smaller by some measure than the ships I have had the misfortune to attempt to ford the salty seas. If I never see another body of water I cannot see the far shore from the one I stand on I will have lived a blessed life.

I cannot say I am completely enamored with our new means of travel. It holds a bound dark spirit, not entirely surprising given the ones who shaped the gifts of the forest to make it, that serves as its sails. We fly by the creatures bound will. A will that needs feeding. Be it we could simply strap a pig or a dry old milk cow to sate the beasts hunger and fuel the fires that allow us to move in this amazing manner. Alas, like all dark things it feeds not on flesh, taken with the Mother's mercy, but on the suffering of thinking beings or the twisted energy of the magic of the mad old ones.

We found our new companion as the vessels "food", strapped to a device of a mad mage. He is one of the under mountain folk, a stout fellow as broad as he is tall. But powerfully built. His name is Thorgar.

Thorgar knows the Mother through the respect of the shaping of her gifts, we share a common thread. The Mother saw it fit to use the both of us to power the vessel to relative safety. After which we found a way to unbind him from the bound beast's "table."

Our passage through the "sea of the air" has been hardly without its own perils. We saw our first dragons within hours of taking flight in our new conveyance. These were white but of the same form as the black scaled and green scaled beast of tales of my grandmother. They were big, but not nearly as much as the ones from the most fantastic stories.

We were being hunted by what we first thought was a single beast. Rather than being the prey we became the predator. I write these words after reflecting and meditating on the Mother's many meanings. Like the pup I am she chose to scruff me at what might have been a time of mortal danger. As I attempted to call on her power to stop the first dragon in its tracks, to make it easier on my able friends to dispatch the beast, she reminded me of the nature of a true hunter.

As it was this first beast fell with relative ease to Adric's arrows with some help from Jack and Thorgar's respective gifts. Thorgar, being adept at shaping was able to call upon the Mother to swing his axe at great distance. What member of the under mountain kin would not envy this gift of the Mother?

The second dragon reminded us all of our hubris. Diving from high above us as we swooped to finish the beast and claim our prizes it was nearly our doom. Adric's shafts crippled the beast but it found its way to the deck of the ship. I nearly became the beasts last meal. After slashing me with its claws it threw me into the coils of its serpentine tail.

This time it was Jack who saved me by finishing the beast. As I struggled against the tightening coils I found myself suddenly released. As I came to my senses the coils of the tail loosened falling to the deck. The tail was no longer attached to the beast, as were many of its limbs. I am glad the volley of Jack's magic augmented by the Mother's favor did not catch me in its fury.

The wounds from the claws I will let heal slowly. A reminder of humility. When I see the scars they will leave they will serve as a reminder of humility. I would like to fashion a knife from the claws that marked me bound to the bone that once held the claw in place. This too will remind me of the way of the Mother. May the Mother guide my hands with these gifts she has given to me.
Session: The Doom of Gwydain? - Thursday, Apr 11 2013 from 12:00 AM to 3:00 AM
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The Merits of Flying....
Sometimes in my childhood dreams I flew, much in the same way I did today. Although the horrors I ran from then were more like my elder brothers.

I cannot say why the Mother chooses to show my companions and I the things she does. We have become her active agents of her will. These abominations must be destroyed but this one would not be sent back from whence it came so easy. So we retreat to fight another day.

The odd sight of the creature that awaited above the hold was more inviting than the one below. Jack assures me that this thing is "safe". I am looking forward to having my feet firmly planted on the ground. That may have to wait. The water is rising rapidly, or this "ground" is surrendering to the depths once again.

We are a trio once again. The "thunder beast" is with the Mother's daughter. I wonder what form she has given him in her presence. Perhaps he is a thunder beast slowly plodding through the endless forest that Mara, Nymar and the pack endlessly roam, always hunting. Perhaps he will be opening his eyes as a new born member of the pack itself. I do not know, maybe if the Mother is kind enough to allow me to run with her in the here after I will know.

But for now, we need to get away from the giant writhing mass of black tentacles.
Session: The Doom of Gwydain? - Thursday, Apr 11 2013 from 12:00 AM to 3:00 AM
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