Bittersweet Refrain

The rumbling was felt throughout the warren. Young and old alike scrambled in search of tunnels and rooms that were known to withstand all but the most forceful of quakes. Being dwarves this was a gift they all shared. As the minor tremor died down a feint whisper began to echo along the stone walls. As the strange sound seeped into the hearth-fires it grew. When the fires of the great forge were touched by the unearthly murmur a shriek unlike any had ever heard. Freakish voices screamed in a rage no mortal could comprehend. Veteran warriors dropped to their knees craddling their ears in weak protection. Tears streamed down faces chiseled in battle. The youngest were paralyzed, striken with a fear so great that it could scar them for life. Three of the oldest fell dead, their heart's unable to take the strain of unknown horror. The elder smith Kardun Hammer-Hand was made blind and deaf all at once when his forge erupted in front of him.

Three forms burst from the fire, ash and coals. Only slightly larger than a man-child, their spectral flesh burned with a hatred that seered the core of all living things they flew past. The invaders knew the corridors well. Every corner they turned, each step they danced up took them closer to the exit. When the light of the setting sun was glimpsed by the the fiery trio they let go another of their damning shrieks, striking down all the guards that stood before them.

When wits began to return to the dwarves that still possessed sanity, a call went out for Lord Bolin. When a dozen minutes had passed by and no response from the dwarf elder alarms were sounded. A message had to be sent to the human keep. The silver raven took flight with magical ease, the warden hoped it would reach them in time. As the almost-bird flew away on its asigned task the temporary leader of the tunnels noticed the charred remnants of a stone hand near the entrance. Gazing at the dark omen he began to wonder just how temporary his position might be.

It was a beautiful sunset. The steep hillside had been chosen as a makeshift lounge by the small gnome mayor. His muscular, if very compact, physique and curly brown hair stood out well against the soft green grass he had chosen to stretch out on. Beside him the honey-sweet voice of Kyliki was slowly winning him over in a particularly fierce debate about what a passing cloud most looked like. Her feminine curves and long locks had made more than a few human heads turn, and many of the gnomes back in town openly envied the time that the lord-mayor spent with near-perfect performer. These were the times Glim thought that he could truly grow to love. A beautiful woman, grass tickling his neck, a picnic basket stored nearby, and a play in town this evening. His own private paradise.

Above them the wind shifted for a moment giving the young gnome a full moment's warning that fire was coming. Fast.

Flexing his muscles as he mentally readied himself for the unknown Glim became aware of everything around him. Kyliki felt the subtle change in her companion and began to sing a quiet little diddy that strengthened will and resolve. Dancing over the hilltop the three specters saw their quary and ignited ever hotter fiery barbs. Fueled with the hatred of a thousand damned souls the unholy forms stormed toward the gnomes. When their shrieks met the lady's song the fire was forced back. A second charge, followed by a third, fourth, and fifth; yet the forms could not pierce the protective shell created by the soft song. As the last of the sun's rays fell beneath the horizon the three unknown demons howled one last time in vain as they vanished in a haze of smoke and ash.

Slowly relaxing their guard, the gnomes began trying to puzzle out what had just happened to them. With the sky looking empty Glim took the hand of his lovely protector and started back toward town. Kyliki was too drained to notice the unnatural silence at first, and Glim to worried about her to focus on his own woodlands. With a groan of pain the earthen floor beneath their feet opened. Glim was able to cling to a few brambles and vines and pull himself free. But the young woman was wrenched from his grasp and pulled into the unnatural pit beneath them. When Glim grabbed for her the vines held him fast, pulling him farther away from the lady he had grown to love. Yelling in anger did no good, soon his feet were dangling a full foot off the ground, thorns biting deep into his skin. Letting slip another baritone groan, the forest floor closed back up, leaving only the wounded gnome hanging in the branches overhead. He needed the Four Points.

Savannah was at a loss. Her red hair tied pulled tight, greatsword in her hand, a prayer to Kord begging to be released. She was ready for battle. There was no enemy though. The Druid Valeran had just left, the aging baron had no patience for her this day; not that he ever did anymore. There was a level of hatred from him that she couldn't stand, and could do nothing about.

Sparring helped.

Should have helped.

Squaring off against her trusted second, a veteran warrior named Haig, the Lady of Alderweg had some aggression to work out. The match became intense, each focused solely on their opponent. When the breeze first began to stir neither of them knew, but when it became noticable it was already too late.

Savannah parried aside bits of parchment and cloth, dust was beating up all about the room. Too much dust. With a choked spasm Haig went limp, Savannah made an attempt to reach him but a blast of dust hit her with such force that she was flung into the wall. The unseen forced matched her own amazing strength, holding her fast. She watched helplessly as Haig was flung out window.

Summoning up her own divine might, Savannah forced herself free from the wall and readied herself. As twin funnels of smoke closed in at her, she uttered a quick prayer to her god. A wall of razors sprang into existence cutting down all the unseen enemies closing in on her. As each of the demons were cut down and fell half-formed to the stone floorthey briefly took on the appearance of close friends she had seen die.

After a full minute she dropped the whirling blades and sent word for the watch captain. Calling out for her armor and real weapons she was keyed up, but even that did not prepare her for what happened next. With a thundrous roar all the firepits and hearths of Alderweg keep coughed up molten rock and sulfur, a heat and stench so great that all within had to be sent fleeing into the hillside until sunrise.

Savannah didn't wait till sunrise though. She needed the rest of the Four Points, and she needed them now.

A small golden-haired boy walked into a humble stone room. It was the picture of tranquility within. "Dada?" he asked softly. There was no answer. With creeping fear he asked again, "Dada?" Still only silence. Tears began to stream down his rosy cheeks, but the child didn't fully know why. Looking about the empty room he took another step through the scattered light offered by the open window. Had the child more years, had he known the dangers of the world beyond his home, he might have turned and fled.

Had the archer chosen to release the bowstring a heartbeat sooner the child's first tear would never have fallen to the floor.

Boccob's Bane

There is a legend told by reclusive relics calling themselves wizards who still manage to hobble down the dusty halls of secluded libraries. They whisper that the greed of a foolish few had brought down a terrible curse upon all who practice the arcane craft, be it learned scholars or debased blood-fueled mystics.

The legend tells of a bookish, if lonely fellow, whose strange appearance combined with a quirky humor ignited the fierce heart of a savage princess. When the wizard gazed upon her primal beauty he was lost to a mighty love, not to mention a lust greater than any a civilized man had ever known. After a brief, if passionate, courtship the duo fled the lands of civilized men making their way northward to her brutal homeland. They road in happiness, the man cared little that he lost the comforts of civilization. He had gained so much more for himself, a woman to love, apprentices to adore his limited power, and shared dominion over a sea of grass. The scholar had blossomed into a powerful man.

Unfortunately, the legend also tells of the gemstones and gold that were found in the tokens worn by the princess, of the wealth found in the horses, rare hides, exotic spices. The wealth grew in the telling among the wizards of his old homeland. Soon those who thought themselves most powerful decided to claim the primitve riches for their own. Savages had no need for such fortunes, those of learning would put the money to far better use. The battle was short, favoring the marauding spell-slingers. One of the casualties was the princess and in her lover's rage a special idea was born. A magical talisman that would spell near certain doom for any wizard.

The now barbaric wizard, fueled by grief and and a bitter need for revenge, collected a score of Cherry Opals. Their deep full red color meant to represent the blood that was to be spilled. Each of the precious stones was embued with the same power. Twice per day they can create an field of null magic radiates out 10 feet in all directions, cancelling the effects of any spell or item that enters it. Each use lasts for a single hour, and once activated there is no way to dampen its effect; the duration must be completed. Most items stones were mounted in necklaces, though some have been concealed in crowns, anda few were made to adorn armbands. But their power never changes, they all project the same anti-magic effect designed to neutralize the power of wizards.

Strong Abjuration Aura. CL12. Feats: Craft Wondrous Items. Spells: Anti-Magic Field. Price: 57,600gp. Cost: 28,800gp + 2,304 xp.

Whims of Nature

Standing with wreckless grace within the cramped confine of the crow's nest a wild haired youth whose tanned copper skin told of his length on board shouted to the ship's first mate, "Sail ahead sir! Square cut!" Then with a final below, "Only a quarter unfurled!"

Hearing the crewman's words made the mate spin about. The damned little fool had said that his golden toy would be ahead and there it was. The Desedra, out from Oakheart six days past. Without bothering to ask his smallish captain for orders, it had become abunduntly clear over the past five months that the captain never wanted to be bothered with actual nautical details. Within moments the Ambercrest, the pirate ship's name this week, was cutting through the Solnor Ocean with a grace and speed only a sailor could truly admire.

The ships were closing fast, boarding parties were being called out, hooks and ropes set into place. Archers and slingers began to take their place at deck, rail, and rigging. The pirates were poised for success. Less than five hundred feet remained between the charging warship and its prey when a quiet voice, spoken with such tone as to give it a singularly unnatural and unpleasant voice, "Turn about full sail, drop anchor to bring us about with all haste." Turning towards the ships headsman, "Take your axe to the line cut free the anchor when the job is done." The crew stared on in shock.

"But sir-"

"No backtalk ye scurvy dawg. DO IT NOW!" Then regaining his diminuitive composure, "They lost the toy I wanted."

With a wave of his hand to the crew the mate gave a resigned call, "You heard the captain boys. Swing us hard about!" The twin half-ogres on crew threw out the anchor as the words left the mate's mouth.

When the great iron weight bit home in the seabed the crew was not fully ready. If not for the scrambling of a few quick fellows, three archers would have been lost to the blue water beneath. Wood groaned under the stress of the harsh maneuver, but with less than eighty feet between them the Ambercrest had shift a full ninety degrees and with the fall of a headsman's axe began to sail under full sheets heading away from the rich prize.

As the two ships seperated the crew of brigands watched the merchantman fade into the background, they all shared the same thought. This wasn't going to last much longer. Things were going to change soon. They could feel it in their bones.

Peering out the the small porthole the glazed eyes of the Desedra's rotting captain watched his prize sail off, a cold fury was burning in his belly. The crew would be hungry another day.

A Price Too High.

They were twins after a fashion. Two identical vessels. Two flesh and blood bodies. Each with a sweet voice, each with a piercing gaze. Two forms that were identical in charms and wiles, but only one soul between them. Like two starving tigresses each was doomed to lash out and steal away what few morsels of life she could before the enemy attacked again. Some thought it a tragedy. Others watched, laughing at what their warped image of the multiverse called a comedy.

Had they always been that way? Born under the full moon of an insane uncle? Possibly. Or perhaps one found the kiss of power a lover whose black lust was too great to resist and signed the pact that can only be signed once. Only after the jug is empty does it miss the cooling embrace of the chilled wine; so to the living form and the soul it protects. Now a beautiful young woman felt empty and frightened.

She was struggling to rid herself of guilt and regret and there was only one thing left now. Claim the last soul as her own. Was it wrong? Maybe. Was it necessary? It had to be. She had once told her that she would do anything to protect her, a scared child was about to collect on a fool's oath.

Time was an enemy to both of fates puppets though. The longer the two pulled at the last strand of divinity between them the more frayed it would become. If one did not win soon enough, both might die and fade into the primal ether, lost to even the most potent of men's magic. No, it was better that one should live than both should die. Some small comfort. The frightened girl would not forget her sister. A candle would be lit on their shared birthday in each of the coming years to honor a sacrifice made in love. Yes, it would have to be in love. Otherwise it would be wrong.

Tinkering with Hobgoblins

I've decided that I like the race hobgoblin. Actually I like the whole trio of goblin races - Gob, Hob, and Bug. And Hobgoblins do cost 1 level already. But I am going to do one more thing to them that I like. They are going to have a +2 bonus to strength as well from now on. Am am also going to grant them DR 1/- (note, this stacks with dr gained from any other source). This is to represent the tough nature of the hobgoblin and the very spartan-like way they breed more of their own. This fits them nicely I think and makes the +1 ECL a little easier to accept.

Hobgoblin's Special Traits
+2 Strength, +2 Dexterity, +2 Constitution
Darkvision 60 feet
Damage Resistance 1/--
+4 racial bonus on Move Silently Checks
Automatic Languages: Common, Goblin
Favored Class: Fighter
Level Adjustment: +1

Just wait until the are found.

Special Armors

What follows are two items that I have given a little thought to recently. Thought I would share them with you. Let me know what you think.

Maiden's Weave Armor

There are rare elf maidens, who upon hearing their one true love is going off to battle, set about preparing a special gift for him. A suit of light armor crafted from her own hair's cuttings. As they weave the strands into cables and then cables into layers forming armor, they treat it with a series of special oils, natural scents, and their falling tears, all while quietly singing the lineage of his family asking those who had gone before to watch over the brave warrior. The result is a set of armor that does not radiate any normal form of magic, but still grants special bonuses to any elf that wears it.

The armor is treated as light, having an arcane spell failure of only 10%, an armor bonus of +4, and a maximum dexterity bonus of +8. This makes the armor quite exceptional since it is always considered masterwork and capable of enchantment. However, it only works for elves and is never found on the open market for sale. It must be given as a gift or found.


Widow's Weave Armor (magical)

This armor is a harsh parody of the fabled Maiden's Weave. Some elves blame the cruel nature of this item on Orc Fetish Shamans. Others point to bald-pated humans who practice rites praising the dark powers, be it Nerrul, Erythnul, or Apkieran. A few even claim that an ancient order of Necromancers who claim mastery over death itself are to blame, but that would mean that worse nightmares walk the shadows than even the most insane have dreamt of.

Widow's Weave is made by pulling the hair out of a captured maiden's scalp while she still lives. After the first cruel task is competed it is said that the instructions turn truly fantastic. The hairs are knitted together by the maiden's own tortured hands, albeit controlled in the matter of an expert marionette and bathed in her own bottled screams. All hairs are used save two, and they seem to grow as needed until the suit is completed. Then the suit is given a wash in her own blood while she watches unable to blink. Once bled out the body is kept for other dark uses. When the blood has dried onto the armor, it is washed in a sickly black brew to complete the basic process. After that, the remaining enchantments seem almost mundane.

Widow's Weave is considered +3 armor (total bonus of +7) and bestows a small selection of special abilities. The least impressive power with the suit is a minor Favored Enemy bonus (+2) it bestows upon its wearer that is focused solely on elves and stacks with any similar bonus the wearer may already have. Next the armor grants a spell-like ability identical to Death Knell usable twice per day. The third boon of the armor allows the wearer to use a touch attack once per day that works exactly the same way as the Death Domain special ability (see PHB p186). The last two abilities of this armor deals with undead. No undead may attack the wearer of this armor unless it succeeds at a Will save - DC19, unless the wearer commits an attack on the undead (see invisibility, PHB p245 for guidelines on what constitutes an attack). This ability supercedes the undead's normal immunity to enchantment and charm effects. The last ability of the armor is to grant a +4 bonus on all Fortitude saves to recover from negative energy levels. This armor is considered evilly aligned, if any non-evil character wears it they will suffer 2 negative levels.

Strong Necromantic Aura. CL11, Feats: Craft Magic Arms and Armor, Evil Brand or Thrall to Demon. Spells: Death Knell, Death Ward. Price 71,000 gp. Cost: 35,500 + 1,840xp.

Test

This is just a test.