#the tribe he’s from mostly live in deep sea caverns and the claws they have basically just help them crawl through tight tunnels

[arolesbianism]

Wanted to rework my salmonid anatomy so take some variants in the form of my lil guys

[zippdementia]

Part 33 Alignment May Vary: The End?

The forge hammer came down. Lightning burst from the place where it struck the anvil. The phylactery whined with a sound like steam bursting from a thin hole. It cracked and all hell broke loose. Karina gasped as the scales shuddered. Tyrion whispered, “no,” then shotued it in rage as the balances tipped and the treasure of Haggemoth fell to the lava 60 feet below. Xaviee turned to Abenthy, crying out at him, imploring him to explain what he had just done and why. Abenthy gave him a calm look: “Justice,” he said.

Haggemoth’s absolution was built around his scales, entwined as they were with a colossal spell of attonement. The idea was that as long as the plates were roughly in balance—in terms of wealth, weight, and there being one side representing magic and the other the forge arts—when they were struck with the forgehammer, the remaining treasure would be dumped into the lava and the power of the spell would pour into the phylactery, freeing Haggemoth’s soul of its sin and letting him move on. Furthermore, the forgehammer carries a blessing that, when used in this manner, cleanses the bearer’s soul and also fills it with dwarven wisdom and power. This has some interesting effects, some cosmetic, like making the weilder grow a beard (Haggemoth intended to magically grow back his long lost beard) and gain a dwarven accent. Mechanically, it also gives some racial bonuses and (most interestingly) removes ALL levels of Arcane magic and replaces them with levels in Fighter.

This would have been very interesting for any of the characters. Abenthy’s soul would have been freed from his father’s grasp, leaving him free to once again make his own destiny. Karina would have lost her arcane thief levels but turned her into a formidable fighter (as well as make her somewhat of a freak of nature, with mixed Dwarven and Tiefling blood). Tyrion was the one I was most hoping for, however, as it would have destroyed the demon inside of him, turned him towards the path of good, made him an incredibly powerful fighter (especially with that axe!) and (last but not least) grown back his lost hair along with a fancy new beard!

However, none of this happens. Because Abenthy struck the anvil when the scales were not in balance, the scales tear themselves apart, dump the treasure into the lava, and Haggemoth’s soul is doomed. Of course, Abenthy suspected this, and thus spoke his father’s name prior to striking the scales, sending Haggemoth’s soul to Ia’fret to be punished for all eternity. Abenthy got exactly what he wanted, though the results are dire.

First, the chain reaction tears the room apart, ripping open a hole in the cavern wall where the lava begins to pour out, turning this lava lake into a lava river and ripping the bridge free from the wall and taking it (and the players) with it. Then Tyrion, recognizing one of the destroyed items as a legendary Staff of Power (an insanely OPed item that would have steered his character’s ascension to higher levels of power throughout the next campaign) and in a mad rage, attacks Abenthy. Abenthy is given some of the power of Haggemoth’s soul by his father and it levels him up to level 8, while also completing his journey to the dark side. Xaviee is horrified by what has happened, but he is quickly knocked out by a piece of the falling scale. Karina, also horrified by the situation, tries to put herself between Tyrion and Abenthy, but the Halfling slips between her legs and when she trips him with her tail, he falls facefirst into a puddle of lava that splashes up onto the bridge. Knocked unconscious, the Halfling never gets his revenge. The room darkens and shifts, the lava disappearing, the red glow of heat being replaced by a cool damp. The stalactites seem to morph and move as they become the shapes of bodies, wriggling from their places in the ceiling, hung upside down. Moans and cries of anguish float down to the bridge which has also changed: extended beyond the range of any of their visions, it now spans a dark chasm with no bottom. Striding across the bridge is a massive figure, a man shaped like a bat, huge, with a greatsword in one hand and a ball and chain in another. The ball drags behind him as he moves, making a scraping sound against the hard stone.

“Father,” Abenthy acknowledged the creature as it came close. In response, I’afret gestured back across the bridge from whence he came. “It is time to go, son,” he said. “You have proven yourself worthy of being arbiter. You are the new Inevitable of Justice and you have greater things to do then linger here with these mortals.”

“But if I leave them now, they will die,” Abenthy protested.

“That is not your concern.”

“It is. As the new Inevitable of Justice, I must see Justice is done.”

I’afret laughed. “This is the fire I saw in you, the reason you have done so well! Always questioning, never satisfied with another’s authority. Good. But take a look at them, son.”

Abenthy looked, and saw that Karina’s face was aglow with a bright blue light where her ruined eye had been. And Tyrion... Tyrion had a shadow bent over him, sneering at Abenthy, its clawed hands dug deep into Tyrion’s heart.

“Get away from him!” Abenthy roared. But the shadow only laughed.

“This one is mine. His soul, mine. His life, mine.”

“I will send you back to the dark, I will banish you from him.”

“You shall not. We have a contract, and it is binding. He entered into it of his own accord.”

Abenthy recoiled but he felt the truth behind the words. His father laid a hand thick with black fur on his shoulder. “You see, son? They have made their own fates. They have chosen their own paths. You no longer need to walk it with them. There are others who need your justice. You know of whom I speak.”

Abenthy nodded. He did know. They had a ways to travel to get there, too. He reached inside his belt pouch and drew out the strange rune he had found at the bottom of the lake, the one that had belonged to Rayden.

“This is yours,” he said to Karina. “It is a part of your fate, not mine. Mine... it awaits me.” Then he looked her directly in the eyes. “I will be back for you.”

The words left her... she wasn’t sure. They chilled her. But also warmed her, somewhere deeper. She didn’t know which feeling was the more true. It was the last they spoke. She did not respond, and so he dropped the stone on the bridge, turned and walked away, his father’s dark mass following.

Karina had been speechless but suddenly she found her voice. “Wait!” she called out, lamely. Of course it did not good. The world shattered around her and she and Tyrion and Xaviee were back in the heat of the lava room, the room spinning around her as the bridge sped down the river of lava, the heat threatening with every passing second to overwhelm her completely. She grabbed Tyrion to keep him from plummeting over the edge and held on for dear life.

This roller coaster ride eventually spills the remaining players out into the ocean, where they are hit by the mercifully cool salt wind and greeted by familiar lizardfolk, who have surrounded the old cliffside volcano in their rafts. With them is a familiar figure: a four eyed Tiefling with jet black skin, who calls out frantically as he spots Karina. Yes, Verrik has survived his fall from the bridge to the tomb and now eagerly reunites with Karina and the rest of the group. He tells them that he was saved after the explosion by a Wood Elf who had been living on the island as a castaway for over five years. After pulling the players aboard his raft, Verrik introduces the elf in question...

(unpronounceable name)

Near the glorious and ancient city of Waterdeep there is a forest known to the locals as the Grey Woods, for the thick fog that often hangs over the forest’s edges. Rumors persist about how the fog originated and what its purpose might be. Whether natural or magical, the fog hides a valley deep in the forest where the fog parts to reveal a beautiful city of wood elves. This particular tribe believes that the body is sacred and that technology beyond the simplest tools is an affront to the gods who formed them. So they practice the martial arts and become weapons more than capable of defending their homeland. Outside of those who pass the training and become monks, the tribes are a peaceful people, seeking not expansion but merely maintaining their home and the forest. They are self sufficient, though occasionally they will trade magical artifacts formed by their shamans for goods during difficult or lean years, and sometimes an enterprising young elf will take on a role as a caravan guard or escort and will use a portion of their earnings to bring further prosperity to the tribe. It is not uncommon for younglings to gain a certain wanderlust and this arrangement puts their talents to productive use while keeping them at least somewhat attached to their tribe.

Traki, which means the Leaf Blown Wind (to his friends... his elvish name we selected from a random die roll in Xanathar’s Guide and it is nigh unpronounceable), was one of these enterprising young wood elves. Enticed by the thought of what might lay beyond the woods, he made plans to board a merchant ship and ride with it as protector against pirates. He was going to bring his best friend and blood brother, Falko (again, short for unpronounceable elven name), with him, but they fought the day of his departure and Traki ventured into the wide world alone. Fate was not with him, however, and the ship that he boarded was blown far off course by a storm, entering the waters around Rori Rama where it was attacked by a sea storm serpent, a vicious beast which is always accompanied by lightning and storm. Traki was knocked unconscious during the encounter and ended up washing ashore the island of Rori Rama where he survived for nearly ten years. During this time, he mostly made his own way. The lizardfolk and he had some dealings, but neither wished to abide the other’s company for long enough to do more than trad

Traki was recently visited by prophetic dreams: not uncommon for wood elves of his tribe, thought he had not had any since being washed ashore Rori Rama. In the dream, he saw a Red Hand sweep the world with fire and death. Through the fire walked three figures, one a demon with a single bright, blue eye; one a shadow shaped like an angel; and a third a small man with a beast riding his shoulders. The dream also showed him the island’s great mountain where the dwarf Haggemoth had built a mighty fortress, since fallen into disrepair. Traki made his way there the next day and was surprised to find the fortress had been attacked. Bugbears who had taken the fortress a year or two ago were slain and their corpses were strewn about the battlefield and the surrounding woods. While investigating, Traki saw something humanoid floating down the river. More than that, it had the appearance of a demon! Remembering his dream, Traki fished Verick out of the river and used his knowledge of healing and medicine to bring him back to health. Verick told him of his missing companions, the companions which now Traki has met and told his story to, and which seem to fit his dream’s vision... minus one angel, of course.

Replacing Abenthy with Traki is a difficult decision that his player makes. Considering what has become of Abenthy, though, we both agreed that he no longer fit in the confines of this storyline. Abenthy has greater things to move on to and is no longer motivated by the things that drive most adventures: a desire to save towns and nations from destruction and to gain some reward in the process. Abenthy is thinking on grander scales now, in terms of concepts of justice and punishment and his task to mete these out. He has transcended the story line and the party, leveled up in more ways than just combat and ability scores can define, and the only way to truly simulate this is to let him move on. We have a long discussion about this and the players also talk about what some of the possibilities would have been had Abenthy stuck around. There was talk between Karina and Abenthy, for instance, of them having a child together and the child becoming Karina’s new character for the next campaign: a fusing of light and dark and Tiefling and Angel. Sounds like the stuff legends are born of! The opportunity for such a coupling may still be on the horizon...

TLDR: Traki is Abenthy’s replacement character, now that Abenthy has grown beyond the confines of the party and the main storyline. He is a wood elf monk, and he is ready to kick some butt in order to prevent a dark prophecy from coming to pass.

In Sickness and in Health

Back when Karina first created her character, her bond was determined to be a commander during the War of Seven Sorrows, who had betrayed her for unknown reasons at the end of the war and left her unable to return to her homeland, for fear of being persecuted for crimes she did not commit. Her personal goal was to find this man, Rayden, and discover the truth: why had he betrayed her? And then to take revenge for the betrayal.

I’d first intended that Rayden would have gone on the same quest for Haggemoth’s tomb that the players undertook, only at the very edge of the tomb’s discovery, he was taken by fever and his mind lost. The dilemma was to be whether Karina would take her revenge on this man who no longer even knew what he had done.

I had pegged revenge as the focal point of Karina’s bond, but in doing so I had been wrong. In truth, it turned out that the real thing Karina was interested in was the story, the truth of why Rayden had done what he did. So I quickly shifted some things around and expanded Rayden’s back story, then improvised a runic device for the players which could later be used to enter a fevered mind and find the man buried within.

This device was partially a fail safe for me. Activated by blood, if the players died inside the tomb, it would take their minds inside the last person to have used it: Rayden (now the islander Den Den). This way I could satisfy the players by finally revealing Karina and Rayden’s back story and even potentially give them a way out of death and back to the tombs afterwards. I suspected I would have to use it during the Golem fight, but my players surprised me (Karina in particular by rolling something like four 20s in a row) and came out mostly unscathed. So it is left as a post-adventure climax.

The lizardmen tell the companions that with Haggemoth’s tomb and soul gone, the jungle island must now be forever closed off to the outside world and will return to its natural state. They will be caretakers of the island, but all intruders must leave. This means the companions and Traki, who is honestly only too happy to oblige, having been marooned here for so long.

The lizardfolk take the companions back to the gateway island, where the natives inform them that Den Den has fallen prey to the fever again and is close to passing away. He has been whispering Karina’s name and calling out for someone named “Monita,” but does not respond to any stimuli. Remembering Rayden’s journals, Karina knows what she must do.

The next few days are spent in preparation, with Karina splitting her time between identifying the remainder of their magical items taken from the tombs and learning the inner workings of the runic device that they will use to enter Rayden. Traki and Tyrion both agree to go with Karina into Rayden’s mind, as the more wills they have to bring to bear on his mind the better their chances of breaking through the fever and finding him. Traki spends most of his time meditating and it is during one of these sessions that he finally again sees his blood brother, Falko. Falko tells him that the woods have been burnt, that the elves have been run out, that it was agents of the Red Hand who did it. He cannot say more before the vision is cut off.

Tyrion, meanwhile, tries to rest up for their new adventure, but he finds it difficult. Every day, his own sickness seems to worsen, and while he puts a smile on his face every day, finally Traki realizes just how sick he is and, furthermore, what has gotten hold of him.

“It is the green death,” Traki explains to Karina and Tyrion, making Tyrion show them his back, which has a mold like covering of green fungus on it. “Mindrot, is a word I came up with for it. You see it sometimes deep in the jungle of Rori Rama, in places that the animals avoid. The Mindrot Thralls live there and any who invade their territory become like them.”

“What does it do?” Karina asks.

“The green death slowly eats away at the body of the infected. It... kills them. And when it is done, they rise again, in thralldom, and infect others.”

“Is there a cure?”

“Burn the body.” Traki looks at her seriously. “That is the best way. But not the only way. I know of herbs on the island which can help the body fight off the infection. Maybe we can find them here. They could help, but in the end it must be beaten from within and in this there is little we can do. Your friend must be strong.”

Unfortunately, Tyrion’s constitution rolls have not been great lately. His hit points dwindle until, the day they are to venture into Rayden’s mind, he has only ten maximum hit points. Sickly looking and feeling at death’s door, he nonetheless joins the others while the natives agree to gather the proper herbs for his recovery, hoping that they can heal him when he returns.

The players share this last evening together, telling stories of their adventures and bringing Traki up to speed on everything that has happened. Traki is a good listener, if not an amazing audience. He does not gasp or exclaim or ever seem concerned by the things they say, but he listens intently and does ask a few questions, all of them about the Red Hand. Unfortunately, here they can do little to enlighten him, except to say what they have seen. These are painful memories. Karina lost Shando, Targaryen, and later Twyin to the Red Hand and its machinations. Verrick used to be one of their number, but all he knows is that they are gathering their power to the east, past the Dragonfang mountains, under the leadership of a mysterious charismatic figure. He was hired by them only to work with the ship they now call Twyin’s revenge, to scour the Moonsea for the statue artifact that Karina now has in her pack, taken from the Watery Temple where Twyin fought Targaryen and both were killed. Notably, Xaviee does not join them in this conversation. He has been quiet often since the tombs and Karina knows he is regretting having thrown his lot in with them, after having seen Abenthy steal Haggemoth’s soul and turn from the party. Those two were close and Xaviee trusted the Aasimir. The half-angel’s turn has shaken him deeply.

Eventually dawn comes and the three gather in Den Den’s tent. Following Karina’s instructions, they cut themselves and bleed onto the runic disc then mix Den Den’s blood in with theirs. Karina begins to chant the activation words while burning the proper alchemical ingredients. They begin to feel cold. Traki gasps in surprise as his fingers, laid upon the disc, begin to sink into it. He tries to pull free but the movement only intensifies the disc’s pull and with a sudden rush of cold, he is plunged inside of it.

A Storm of Memories

Cold. Wet. Dark.

These are the first sensations Karina feels as feeling comes back to her. The next sensation is of weightlessness as she is spun around, head over heels, by the forces around. All at once, she realizes she cannot breath. Water all around her, pressing down on her lungs, reaching cold fingers inside of her. She panics, pushes, strikes out blindly in one direction, and breaks the surface of an ocean in storm.

Lightning flashes around her, waves pulse as if pushed up from the depths by unseen giants. Nearby she can see Tyrion, sputtering and staying afloat with strong strokes of his small but massively muscled arms. There is no sign of Traki.

The next thing Karina feels is one of the strangest sensations in her life. Her right eye, the one gouged out by the snake in the hinterlands of Frezourazov, is burning with the spray of salt water. She suddenly realizes she can see out of that eye: it is no longer missing.

This revelation is followed by a cold smack in the face from another wave. Iun a flash of lightning she suddenly sees Traki, treading water about fifty yards away. We are all here, then, she thinks. But where was here? Did the device work? Had they been transported inside Rayden’s mind? Was this what inner turmoil looked like? Regardless, they could not stay here. What they needed was a ship, wreckage to hold onto... or land, really.

Here I have Karina make an intelligence roll versus a minor DC. She passes, and so...

Suddenly another flash of lightning illuminates a dark shape on the horizon. An island! It must have been behind Karina or else she had been pulled away from it by the storm. But now, seeing it, she strikes out in that direction, wasting only a single breath to call out to Tyrion and Traki to follow, hoping that they can hear her above the pounding of the waves.

Moments later, the three pull themselves up on blessed shore and collapse, sucking in long lungfuls of air. Presently, they gather themselves and take stock of their situation. They are wearing rags, the same rags Karina was forced into on the slaver ship so long ago. All other equipment that they had is gone: no packs, no potions, no weapons, no armor. They are marooned on a mysterious island with not even a single ration to spare, and no sign of Rayden in sight.

Traki is the first to recover and begins immediately heading up the beach, like a hound on the scent. “ Come,” he tells the others. “It is this way.”

“What do you mean?” Tyrion’s shrill voice pierces the crash of the waves against the shore. “How do you know where to go?”

“Because this is not Rayden’s memory,” Traki says. “It is my own, of the night I was stranded on the island of Rori Rama.”

The three follow Traki through the thick brush delineating the beach and push their way slowly into a jungle. They know not when it happens, but suddenly the storm is gone, replaced by the heat of day and the sounds of birds and animals. Traki follows a path that he clearly knows well, only stopping now and then to kneel by the side of the path. After one of these halts, he looks concerned.

“See this,” he says, handing them a large frond ripped from a nearby plant.

Karina turns it over in her hand. “What am I looking for?” she asks.

But Tyrion sees it before Traki can answer. “That,” he says coldly, pointing at a large splotch of green fungus which has taken over a portion of the frond.

Traki nods. “I fear you have brought your infection with us,” he tells Traki. “And if what Rayden wrote in his journals is true, that is exactly how his crew infected each other with their fever. I have seen more signs of the Green Death as we have walked. It is subtle, but it is there.”

“Then we burn it out,” Karina says and presses her fingertips to the leaf. Within seconds of her channeling her magic, the leaf has withered and died. But Traki shakes his head: “No,” he says. “It would take us hours to burn through this forest with what spells we have. And I fear our time here is short. There is danger here, can you not feel it?”

They all can, but none can quite define what that danger is. Uneasily, they move on. As they progress, Traki’s steps become more unsure. “This is no longer my path,” he tells them. “It has changed to the path another walked. I can see where the brush was parted or even cut away. We can follow, but I know not where it will take us.” Without other options, though, the party decides to keep following, while the path climbs higher into the hills. “At least we will be able to have a good vantage point,” Traki tells them.

Eventually they reach an area that at least is familiar to Karina and Tyrion: a lakeside campsite, the same campsite where they found Rayden’s abandoned journal and equipment, the furthest he made it in Rori Rama before being struck with fever and turning back. And here, sitting beside his tent, is not Rayden, but Den Den. Cross legged on the ground, the fat man smiles at them.

“You have come here seeking something,” he says.

“Yes,” Karina answers. “I come seeking truth.”

“Truth,” he chuckles. “Truth is not always what it seems here. This place, where we are, this is safe. But beyond it lies memory, and danger, and truth, yes. But memory is not always accurate, even if it is true. This land can shift, do not forget that. If you would go forward, then you must start by climbing the seeing tree.” He points to a massive tree behind the campsite, so large that its trunk seems more a constructed wall than a living thing and that trunk extends upwards to a height greater than most towers. Leaves and foliage obscure its highest points and create a roof over the area through which they cannot see.

As they begin to climb, Den Den gives them one final warning: “The fever is here. It will burn away everything soon, even Den Den. If you are not quick, it will consume you, too.”

And then Den Den closes his eyes, and the three companions are left to climb the great tree and see into the land of memory.

A Dark Landscape

The task of climbing is quickly done. Indeed, there is an odd sense of jubilation to the climbing of the tree, as if each foot ascended brings them closer to euphoria. It is not a difficult climb and soon, they are laughing and showing off. Physics seem to matter less in this place and so Tyrion and Traki especially take full advantage, leaping from branch to branch with huge jumps and bursts of energy. Tyrion one ups Traki, using Traki’s head as a stepping stone to launch himself even higher. Traki falls, but it does not seem to hurt him. He is back up on his feet and bounding up the tree after Tyrion shortly. Karina alone takes the task at a more traditional pace, climbing steadily hand over hand. Ironically, or perhaps because of this, she is the first to actually ascend, bursting through the upper layers of the tree and staring out at a suddenly familiar landscape.

Behind them, yes, there is the jungle land of Rori Rama. But in front the scenery has changed to that of blasted glass, an obsidian plain stretching as far as they can see. The time of day has changed, too: it is dawn, or approaching that--the colors of bright jungle day have sunk down into dull fire, the embers of sunlight waiting to be ignited by the orb that will soon appear on the horizon.

“The plains of Markesh,” Karina says solemnly. “My first battle was fought here,” she tells the others. “And it is also where I first met him.”

The climb down from the tree does not take long, but as they near its base, they realize it is no longer a tree. They are now descending a sheer obsidian rock face, alighting at last into the blasted plains of Markesh.

“A great battle will be fought on these plains,” Karina explains to Traki and Tyrion as she helps them down off the cliff side.

“Indeed it will,” a new voice says from behind them. They turn to see a man making his way carefully towards them over the broken and uneven landscape. He is well built, wearing leather armor like he was born in it, and wearing a smile that seems to fit the wrinkles at the corners of his mouth so perfectly that it is clearly a well practiced movement. HIs hair is black and wavy, with a stripe of white in the front. “You are just in time, new recruits,” the man says. “I am captain Rayden. Welcome to the fight.”

Next time, As She Remembers It, the party is taken through a whirlwind adventure in time as they move through the layers of Rayden and Karina’s memories.