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4thcore Oneshot "Dark Prophecies of the Drow" 11/5/12

PostPosted: 31 Oct 2012, 12:13
by Iunnrais
This coming monday, I will be running a 4th Edition "Fourthcore" One-Shot adventure for 4-6 Players, Level 5. I currently have 4 players signed up for it, leaving two openings.

Fourthcore does not mean you are restricted to "Core books" material, so feel free to mix and match from whatever books you have, or use the Wizard's character building tools. "Fourthcore" means that this will be a DEADLY dungeon-romp through an insane magic-infested jungle. Your character may die. In fact, if at least one character does not die, I will feel as if I have failed as a DM. I will roll dice in the open, and they will land as they may.

For setting information, see the "Valacia Campaign Notes" thread, but as this is a oneshot in a specific location, don't feel like you need to memorize it. This is the scenario:

Hearing about a job opportunity for an adventurer such as yourself, you meet at a tavern, expecting to march into the Sinster Range and confront the undead monstrosities there. To your surprise, however, the dark hooded man says you will be traveling across the globe, all the way to the Southern Continent, where dark jungles infested by Drow run next to a frozen wasteland.

"I want you to collect a gemstone for me..." he tells you. "It will pay well. Thirty thousand gold pieces. More, if you can tell me about what gods they have down there." Not so strange to be sent after treasure, but gods? Everyone knows all the gods already! Allura and Forseth and Kolos and Vesk and so forth. What new thing could you possibly come up with?

Regardless, the pay is certainly good, and the dark cloaked stranger even offers you transportation to just outside the Drowlands. There is a teleportation circle in a nearby building. And off you go...

Character Rules

Level: 5
Race: No Warforged, any other player race (Gnomes are reskinned to Halflings with different stats). Orcs are allowed, as Half Orcs except an additional +2 to any physical stat, but only start with a Level 3, Level 4, and Level 5 item, and 100 gold instead.
Wealth: A level 4, level 5, and level 6 item plus 840 gold to be spent at will
Backstory: Optional but encouraged. Personality, at least, MUST be described. NOT OPTIONAL, it will matter mechanically to the romp.
Alignments: No Chaotic Alignments. Neutral or Lawful Good, Neutral, or Evil is allowed. LE and NE alignments must have scruples. No "True Neutral", but Unaligned is allowed.
Special: Free bonus "Weapon/Implement Expertise" feat.

Re: 4thcore Oneshot "Dark Prophecies of the Drow" 11/5/12

PostPosted: 31 Oct 2012, 22:49
by Relmin
Kor Update - DEAD
Level 5 Dwarf Runepriest
Alignment: Unaligned
Dwarven clan: Dhunvari
Caste: Ulse'ein, specifically Nashti
Spec'ed for healing and defending

Kor comes from a long line of Dwarven Runepriests, devoted to Avara, the guardian of the mountains.

Most of his life was uneventful, as he worked his priestly duties in the capital city Vhardum for the glory of his clan. His family has always been very slow to move and slow to act, valuing the wisdom of the mountain above all else. As a Runepriest Kor's family was not only called upon to heal, but to also defend the city in times of great need.

One time of great need, and of great failure, was the Tarrasque attack. At first Kor's family was called to help heal the great Dwarven warriors who happened to make it away alive. Soon it was clear that everyone his family was healing was trying to flee rather than face down the beast, so Kor's family started to attack the Tarrasque. This went as you would think, and Kor's family was decimated. Kor only escaped due to his intense cowardice in this time of need, as when he saw his father die before a single blow could be laid on the Tarrasque, Kor fled and hid as well as he could. He only came out when he heard the sounds of celebration and saw the three adventurers who took down the mighty beast.

After that day everything changed. The Dhunvari were no longer the top clan and Kor was the only Runepriest left in his clan. While few blamed him from hiding from the beast, Kor knew that he would live the rest of his days dishonored. He made his excuses, blamed Avara for not giving his family the boon they deserved, and felt as though he lost his way. He decided that he could no longer sit back and react to the terrible things that befell his clan, but instead he must go forth and train so that one day he could be the one to stand up to legendary monsters.

It was then that Kor decided that he would leave Vhardum, and seek out the greatest challenges he could to prove his worth. He became a daredevil, always going into the heat of battle, pushing his allies to the heights of their ability while admonishing his enemies. After adventuring for awhile he learned of Malakath, and converted to his temple so that he could worship through braving the chaos of the world rather than through the careful, and passive, actions of his ancestors.

When Kor heard that the very party that killed the Tarrasque was looking to hire adventurers he jumped at the opportunity. Surely whatever they need to have done will be so dangerous that he would come out more powerful than ever before, well on his way to being a champion of the Dhunvari clan.

Re: 4thcore Oneshot "Dark Prophecies of the Drow" 11/5/12

PostPosted: 04 Nov 2012, 21:58
by silarion
Paelias Marancor
Level 5 Eladrin Psion
Alignment: Neutral Good
Position: Outcast
Controller: Status effects and battle control

Born to two high magisters in the Eladrin capital of Arphinial, Paelias was a constant source of shame for his parents. Lacking the natural propensity of his magical birthright, he struggled with the most basic of spell. At an age when his peers were declaring their first specializations in the various schools of official magic – evocation, abjuration, enchantment, ect. – Paelias was struggling with basic magical theory and the simplest rituals. Upon reaching the age of 100 – the age of majority – he was given the traditional choice for those unable to declare a specialization, teleportion to the Elven “cousins” in Vaedijhal or a second apprenticing, a prospect that would inevitably lead to his being relegated to some level of magical drudgery.

An embarrassment to parents and an object of ridicule amongst his peers, Paelias chose exile in the far north. However, he was no more at home in Vaedijhal than he had been in Arphinial and chose to leave a few years later. Wandering through Valacia, Paelias traveled to the library at High Temple of Kolos in Belas where he became a scholar. Living amidst the books, he finally found a home. During his sixty years in Belas, Paelias became increasingly aware of a burgeoning power within him. Distinct from the magic that eluded him in his youth but similar in nature, the force welled up within him bursting forth in uncontrolled paroxysms that left him panting and stunned amidst a destroyed section of the library. Fearing for his safety and that of his fellow scholars, he researched frantically for some hint of this power. Finding a scant reference to a practice known as “psionics” in a place known as the Kingdom of Flowers, he took to the road once again.

On his way south, Paelias found himself pressed more and more urgently as the mysterious power within him grew, a burning force that threatened danger. Until one day, it erupted. Waylaid by highwaymen who demanded money he did not have, Paelias feared for his life. As they set upon him with clubs, a storm erupted within him. Although he would never remember exactly what happened that day, he could never forget the sounds of bones snapping as he broke those men with the power of his mind. Exhausted beyond endurance, Paelias fell to the ground, his life force ebbing away.

Much to his surprise, Paelias awoke with a start in a room filled with light. Surveying the richly appointed room, he saw a small bald man sitting in the corner, a man who radiated pure power. Sitting up in his bed, Paelias spoke, his voice dry and dusty with disuse.

“Who are you? Where am I?”

Standing, the man responded. “I am your teacher, and you are home. This is the day that your journey truly begins, Paelias”

It was only later that Paelias realizes that the bald man had not moved his lips as he spoke.

Re: 4thcore Oneshot "Dark Prophecies of the Drow" 11/5/12

PostPosted: 05 Nov 2012, 12:47
by Iunnrais
I'll see you tonight, but anyone else able to post your character beforehand? Also, forgot my laptop again, but luckily, my notes can be printed out, so I'll do that before I leave work, and I shouldn't need anything else.

Re: 4thcore Oneshot "Dark Prophecies of the Drow" 11/5/12

PostPosted: 05 Nov 2012, 14:51
by powerslave84
Olek, Human Fighter. Neutral Evil, described below.

Once a slave always a slave. No matter what you do, you'll always be on the bottom. Olek, an arena fighter, is skilled in martial law and brutality and attempting to free himself of the binds, but he knows death is the only real exit. Word arose of a contract from the saviors of the city, you know the ones who killed the tarrasque, and that able bodied men could have a chance to prove their worth. With nothing left to lose, Olek rushes to learn more. Having never lost a match, his reputation is quite high, but as a slave he still has no rights. His master/handler agreed to send him on this mission, only on the agreement that Olek sees none of the money. In an attempt at freedom he blindly signs up, hoping for escape, or death.

Neutral Evil to Olek is selfishness. The needs of one outweigh the needs of everyone else.

Re: 4thcore Oneshot "Dark Prophecies of the Drow" 11/5/12

PostPosted: 05 Nov 2012, 14:52
by powerslave84
Also, Apple Pie is currently being baked.

Re: 4thcore Oneshot "Dark Prophecies of the Drow" 11/5/12

PostPosted: 05 Nov 2012, 14:52
by Relmin
Trish "Hellfury"
Level 5 Human Rogue Scoundrel
Alignment: Neutral Evil
Position: Freelance Informant

Being an orphan is never easy. Especially in Northolt. Family and gangs are everything here. Anyone not associated in some way has no job, no rank or standing, no name, and no protection from other gangs. The problem with most orphans is that they are stupid. They steal, cheat and lie, but they are sloppy. Their only goal is to get a meal and warm their rears. They work alone. Not me. I have ambition. I make use of my namelessness. I sell my services to the gangs. I have opened their eyes to the uses of non-association. A rival gang can't blame them for sending in "one of theirs" because I belong to no one. I wait, I listen, I make use of the shadows and of people's willingness to be blind to their surroundings. I don't let things like hunger and cold get in the way of what I need to do.

Things have been better for the town since Garren Peacemaker came around. I have been able to get an "honest" job. I tend the bars at the tavern. If anything, that makes my lifestyle too easy. People get piss drunk and basically give me their money and secrets. I have taken up the business of revenge for women, earning me as much of a last name as I'll ever have- "Hellfury." I don't particularly feel an association with women and their pathetic problems, but this has given me something ...almost challenging to do. No one expects an unassuming bar wench.

A few nights ago, I was waiting tables and there was a new face. He sat in the corner and studied the room. After three hours, he made his move- to Filo Sandstorm. He asked if Filo was interested in an adventure- prestige and money beyond measure. Filo of course said yes, and they made their way to the stranger's table to discuss details. I learned of an epic adventure and a chance to work for Garren Peacemaker. It was easy to see why he had chosen Filo. He didn't drink much (because beer made his belly hurt) and he was strong (more like big-boned. His father was the same way), and not only that, he was talking with only one person the whole night (his brother), so he was most likely not going to be missed, and didn't play a pivotal role in society here (that's the truth). If this stranger needed someone with a backbone, Filo was the wrong choice. He was respected in town only because he had gone into the Har Wastes and retrieved a dragon scale to complete his initiation into a gang. I knew the truth though. He had the luck to stumble onto some dragons fighting, and collected 4 scales from the fray. I confronted him on his way back and managed to convince him to give me three of the scales in exchange for my silence on his manner of obtaining them.

Soon my attention was demanded by another wife seeking to punish her husband for gambling one of their horses away. Gods above, why did I ever start this? I didn't care about people with these problems. If it is bothering you so much, take care of it. I was sick of wives and women being frustrated at each other and at men but not wanting to get their pathetic hands dirty. I was better than this. I could take down an empire if I wanted, and they wished for horses, jewelry, and for the gang leaders to notice them. Working with the gangs was better. There was power in that. I did things with purpose, not on the whim of some waffling women.

Then it occurred to me. There was a huge opportunity here. I then did what I had longed to do so often. "You know what? I don't care. It isn't me he is hurting by gambling, it is you. And he isn't even hurting you. You have 3 other horses, and you don't even like horses. If you feel wronged, right it yourself, don't involve anyone else, especially for such a pathetic problem. You should be more concerned that your husband is about to get a knife in his back." Stupid wench hadn't even realized he was here. As I pointed out the danger he was in, she screamed and in no time at all there was a full on brawl. Excellent. I slipped out to find the leader of Filo's gang. It was time he knew that one of his members had failed him from the start. There now appeared to be an opening for the stranger's quest, which the stranger wouldn't realize until dusk tomorrow.

Finally. A challenge.

Re: 4thcore Oneshot "Dark Prophecies of the Drow" 11/5/12

PostPosted: 05 Nov 2012, 17:19
by bac8434
Adran Kentus
Alignment: Neutral Good
Occupation: N/A

“Blasted Fancy Pride,” Adran mumbled, as he stumbled over a root. He never should’ve stepped foot on that damned ship. It had been several weeks since the attack, yet the smell of burning flesh still lingered in his mind. Sailors screaming in agony as their blood boiled. Some mercifully swept into the waters of the Norhar, others tortured as razor-sharp claws ripped muscle and tendon apart. And in the midst of it all? The party assigned to protect them had abandoned ship. Bastards.

Then again, maybe they’d had the right idea all along, since staying onboard the Pride had worked out so very well. In the midst of the chaos, Adran had been knocked unconscious, collapsing onto a floating portion of the Misty Gale’s hull. Many hours later, judging by the darkness, Adran awoke to the sound of crunching gravel, his unintentional raft grounded on the river’s western shore. To the south he could see fires, presumably the campsite of the other survivors. In the morning, he would follow the river south and reunite with them.

Originally, Adran had planned to walk south, and once in sight of the camp, swim across the Norhar. Luckily, his plans never came to fruition. Only a half day’s walk down the riverbank, Adran caught site of the mercenary party from the ship, travelling on a raft. Unfortunately, he also noticed that the same dragon that had attacked the ships was pursuing the raft. Taking cover in the trees of the Norhar Wood, Adran watched as the dragon followed them out of sight, not attacking them for some unknown reason. Continuing south once the threat had passed, Adran eventually spotted piles of crates on the opposite shore, but to his dismay, no survivors greeted him. Presumably, they had all perished. Afraid that the dragons he had seen would return to claim the goods they had sought so fervently, Adran chose to stick to the western shore.

After collecting whatever goods he could muster from the remnants of the convoy, Adran continued south, travelling along the treeline of the Norhar Wood but always in sight of the river. Expecting to find wildlife in the wood, Adran was surprised by the deathly silence that greeted him whenever he dared venture underneath the canopy. For weeks, Adran was forced to live off of grass and root, interspersed with rations that he ate of only when necessary to muster up energy. Eventually, Adran found himself at the gates of Midhar Post, starving and weary, but alive.

Tales of his adventure were met with skepticism. Dragons avoided the river, he was told, and there was no reason for them to steal simple iron. More likely he had hallucinated the events due to his concussion, a priest said, or maybe starvation had made him temporarily delusional. Adran knew what he had seen, however, and unfortunately, he knew that he would eventually have to make the trip again. His wife lived in Silner, as did his newborn child whom he had not yet met. They had gone up the river from Northolt less than a year earlier, and Adran had been forced to stay behind to conclude a work contract.

Unfortunately, his convoy had been the last one northbound for the season, and so he returned to Northolt on a southbound ship, working odd jobs there until he could return to his family. Eventually, an adventurer came into his regular tavern, offering free passage to Silner in exchange for labor on the road to Vaedjihal, and Adran readily accepted, since that had been his initial goal anyway.

Unfortunately, Adran did not know that the Umbral Blot had swept through the north, wiping out most of Silner, and killing his wife and child. Those still in Silner expressed sympathy for his loss, but could do nothing for him. Left with nothing, Adran travelled north to fulfill his contract working on the Elfroad. This turned out to be nearly as dangerous as his voyage aboard the Pride, as the road was regularly sieged by horrifying creatures from the wood, but the guards hired to protect the road held out, for a time. When gaps appeared in the guard from time to time, it was Adran who would step in, willing to risk his life, as it held little value to him. Over time, the attacks subsided and the road was completed. Left with nothing but painful memories of loss in Silner, Adran returned to Northolt and drank away his payment, hoping to forget all that had transpired in the last year. Still, he could not do it. He had grown up in Northolt, and had met his wife there, and though he drank to excess, he could not get their time together out of his mind.

Thus, when the same adventurer from before came into town, looking for someone to travel to Adulese in search of treasure, Adran volunteered. After all, what did he have left to lose, thanks to that darn Fancy Pride?