Rise of the Runelords

Tarbat kills the demon woman

with help

Tarbat barely felt the cut across his stomach that goblin left as it rode by on it’s gecko. He felt the anger rising within and spun about, swinging his earthbreaker over head, the forces of his body spinning and the weight of the hammer rising over head meeting in the center of his torso. Years of practice making the maneuver second nature. The spiked side of the hammer hit squarely in the middle of the big gecko’s head, gore splatters everywhere and the slimy mount collapses beneath the goblin.

Tarbat grins savagely. This gobin won’t be getting away. His companions and he continue fighting the goblin leader and it quickly falls.

Tarbat lets the rage slip away and feels his body grow heavy for a few moments as he adjusts to not being fueled by anger.
He smiles at his companions and thumps Orrick on the back. “Good fight everybody. Good fight!”
The others search the dead for loot, except for Elomir, who seems to be have wounded his arm in the fight. Trogdar and his hill people god will fix it.
Tarbat eyes the other doors, the post-anger lassitude faded, and readies himself for more enemies.

The party heads back through the temple to find the way down into the demon woman’s lair. After several unoccupied rooms Tarbat opens a door to find a table laid across the entrance and is shot in the arm with an arrow. He pulls it out and says ‘That was a mistake’.

Orrick and he push the table out of the way and Tarbat charges in and explores the space with his earthshaker. His companions follow behind and quickly the monk is dead and the female mage faces them, crying her companion’s name and pointing a wand at Orrick.

With a sob she turns the wand to her own head and kills herself.
Tarbat can tell that Orrick is shaken by this and gives him a gruff yet companionable punch to the arm.
After the others finish looting again, they venture through the secret door that was partially open. Steps lead down and so the group goes.

The area below seems to be part of a much older complex. The floor is buckled and tilted as if from an upheaval of the earth itself. Tarbat shudders at the thought of what magic could have caused this.
They come to a spot in the hall where the floor is not covered in debris and dust and two statues holding polearms are in niches in the wall on either side.

Trogdar is sure this is a trap of some sort. Tarbat leaps across easily and continues on. His companions do not follow…. It appears their legs are too weak to propel them across the small section of hallway, so Tarbat leaps back across and Orrick and he each grab a side of the dwarf and toss him across.

From a door down the hall Tarbat hears an evil giggle! Again his mighty thews bunch below him and he leaps across the very short and easily-leapable section of hallway. He dashes up the hall and stands before the door, hammer ready.
Behind him his companions build some sort of bewildering rope contraption to get the others across the trapped portion of the hallway. Somehow, despite this, Orrick sets off the trap. Two portcullises fall down on either side fo him, blocking him within the hall. Then the figures in their niches chop into him repeatedly with their polearms. Then the floor hinges open and drops his apparently dead body into the depths.

Trogdar would like to go and help Orrick but first the demon woman must be dealt with.

He opens the door and in the large chamber within is the demon woman. Her beauty is incredible, except for her arm, which is a twisted and scaly abomination.

She waves her hand and summons another cursed flying fear hound! Aaargh!

The beast let lose it’s howl and much to his disgust, the creature’s magic turns Trodgar’s bowels to liquid. He drops his hammer and flees back down the hallway, gibbering and panicked, but not so panicked that he doesn’t easily leap over the very short section of trapped hallway.

Behind him most of his companions also flee, though later Tarbat finds out that the stalwart halfling, Dara, held his ground and killed the howling hound with one shot of his crossbow.

As Tarbat is running he hears Trogdar call out to his god and then a wave of magical energy seems to pass through Tarbat, washing away the fear he felt.

He quickly turns around and races back towards the demon woman.

She has moved out of the room and is following his friends down the hall, waves of dark energy pulsate out of her, striking the others and causing them to cry out in pain.

Tarbat runs toward her, dodging at the last moment to tumble past her. She swings wildly at him with the black sword she wields but misses and then Tarbat is back in the room and scoops up his hammer.

Back into the hallway to fight the demon woman. Tarbat sees that Elomir has fallen and as he watches in horror he sees Trogdar attempt to leap the trapped portion of the hallway, only to fall into the trap and down into the pit.

After a few solid hits with his earthbreaker the demon woman flees. Tarbat follows and catches her with another blow to her spine, bringing her down. He quickly smashes her head with the hammer to be sure she is dead.

A lever on the wall of the room opens the pit trap and below both Orrick and Trogdar are alive and they climb out of the trap.

Trogdar calls upon his god and revives Elomir. The party gather up what loot they can and set up a camp for a well deserved rest.


Uh, wow. Really really well written. Do you have any writing you’d like to share that I could read? This is crazy good!

Tarbat kills the demon woman

Here’s the back story for the character in the last game I played. He was also a barbarian but with some levels of bard. His race was ‘Litorian’, which are bipedal lions. You an google them and see pictures.

Amra woke slowly, which was not his nature. Usually he woke instantly, entering wakefulness like an arrow leaving a bow, but this morning he came awake slowly, like a dagger being pushed into the belly of a hated enemy.

His head felt like an elephant was stepping on it and his mouth tasted of blood and poison. The sun was merciless and stabbed his eyes with spears of brilliance. He rubbed filth from his eyes and looked about.

After he was done puking he looked at what he had done. The dead man’s name was Pango and he was a trader from the North. A human whose wagon brought whiskey South and then took furs and gems back North.

The previous evening Amra had come upon the trader’s camp as he was travelling to the coast. Pango invited him to stop and share some whiskey. Not one to pass up a free drink, Amra accepted, and the two of them spent several companionable hours together, drinking, telling stories and reciting poetry. The human knew some good poems, but Amra had learned the art of poetry at the knee of old Morgan Stormmane himself and nobody could recite poetry better than that old bastard.

At some point during the night, after they had finished off a bottle (well, after Amra had finished off a bottle), Pango said he had something ‘special’ that Amra should try. He dug down into his wagon and pulled out a bottle wrapped in old velvet. Inside was an oddly shaped bottle. Just looking at the bottle made Amra’s head hurt. There was a label on the bottle, a fantastical label of intricate line drawings that formed shapes that seemed to move. Inside the bottle was a clear green liquid.

With a sly look that the small sober part of Amra’s mind did not like, the trader handed Amra the bottle.

“Take a drink of that and you’ll taste something that few have tasted!” Pango said, “This elixir is from the far East, a liquor made from lotus blossoms and honey harvested by a moth that only flies on the nights of the full moon.”

Amra held the bottle up to the moon and looked through it. Inside he saw something drifting on the bottom, a small multi-tentacled sea creature, apparently pickled in the liquor.

Seeing the look of disgust on Amra’s face, Pango said “Ah, I see you are a lion in form only, with the heart of a timid mouse.”

With a snarl Amra pulled the cork and tipped the bottle over his head, allowing the sickly green fluid to flow down this throat.

Inside the bottle the small tentacled creature swam eagerly towards his mouth.

After that, Amra’s memories become a jagged mixture, like a reflection seen in a broken mirror.

He remembers:

Beautiful visions that he no longer has the proper senses to understand.

Pango standing over him, chanting words in an unknown language.

A great hunger rising within.

Jango backing away, a look of awful surprise on his face.

Feeding, warm flesh and sweet blood in his mouth. Gorging till sated, then sleeping.

Amra looks again at Pango’s body. He had eaten his liver and several more of the sweemeats before turning to the big muscles of the thighs and calves.

After dry heaving for a bit, Amra finds a bottle in the wagon, makes sure it’s plain whiskey, and washes his mouth out.

It is then that they find him. The Litorian folk are nomads and great wanderers. It is a full pride that comes upon him. Women, children, warriors and the elders. There are no outcries They form a silent circle around him, their eyes full of of shame and disgust. Eating sapient creatures is forbidden. It is one of the first laws.

Momentarily, Amra consider trying to explain about the vile liquor, the chanting and the floating creature. Instead he simply hangs his head in shame and beings walking North. This pride will tell others and soon, all of The Folk will know his crime.

Amra hadn’t been able to read the label on the strange bottle, but the symbols were saved in his memory, a memory trained to remember the poetry and history of the Litorian people. To clear his name, he had to find out what had happened to him.

Tarbat kills the demon woman

And this is an addendum to the above, written to get my character linked to another PC (the demon looking creature)

It was the whiskey again.

Amra had travelled North for weeks. The savannah of his people was far behind him. Here there were large green trees everywhere and apparently a horrible curse of freezing had been put upon the land, for the rain froze as it fell from the sky and became ‘snow’.

Amra had traded the last link of gold chain he had for a place by the fire, a meal and a bottle of whiskey. He sat before the fire, miserable, his nose dripping and his throat sore. All of his muscles and joints ached. Amra had a cold. Also, he hadn’t composed any poetry since that awful morning. Perhaps his poetry was dead.

At least things couldn’t get any worse. And this whiskey was surprisingly good and strong…

When Amra woke up, he once again had a raging hangover and he was in a cage. An iron cage that, from the lurching and bumps was in the back of a wagon. The cage was filthy and cold and Amra was freezing.

The driver of the wagon ignored his questions and shouts of anger. Amra finally got his attention by roaring a full throated lion’s roar that spooked the horses. The driver calmed the horses, turned around and shoved a rod through the bars. When it touched Amra it erupted in a blast of pain that left the Litorian gasping on the floor of the cage. He did not roar again.

He towered over the other people in the tent, but that was not why they gave him so much space. No, the space given him was probably due to the cloven hooves, red skin, horns, claws and barbed tail.

He was used to the stares and the whispers though. He ignored them and watched the creature in the cage. It was was a humanoid creature, covered in tawny fur that had once been golden but now was just filthy. A bedraggled mane of hair hung around a head that was lowered, staring at the ground. It’s body must have once been magnificently muscled but now it was nearly skin and bones. The creature, whatever it was, was dying. A terrible fate for any animal, they should just put it out of it’s misery.

The tent, the whole ‘carnival’, was a festering boil of despair and inhumanity. He should not have come here. He turned to leave, but as he did, the creature raised it’s head to look at him, and in it’s eyes he saw that this was not just an animal, but a sentient creature, just as he was.

Painfully it stood, grasped the bars of the cage, and began reciting a poem. It’s voice was harsh and gravelly at first, but as the poem continued, the voice became stronger and deeper. The poem flowed through his head like a flash flood, the words did not stick in his memory, but as he listened, he was transported to another place, a place of tall grass, warm nights and a sky full of stars. When the poem was done, the creature fell back onto the rags in the cage and turned it’s head away.

The tears on his face dried quickly, for his skin was hot with anger. He heard his father’s voice in his head, telling him again “Some will call you Demon and claim you are evil, but remember, son, evil is a choice. No matter what you are, you can choose the righteous path.”, so he tempered his anger and went looking for the tent’s owner.

“50 gold is all I have and it is a fair price. You will sell him to me.” The fear his appearance had caused since he was born now served him in good stead, along with the sulfurous smell that seemed to show up whenever he got angry.

“It’s nearly dead anyways, give me the 50 gold and it’s yours.” said the fat man.

He had to help the creature out of the cage, nearly carrying him to the inn. There he bathed him and fed him and put him into a bed. Somewhere along the way, the creature whispered to him “My name is Amra Stargazer and you have my eternal gratitude, whatever you are.”

Tarbat kills the demon woman

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