MNF session 14: Welcome to Thunderspire

As the Horns of War sat in the tavern of Winterhaven enjoying the class and accommodations befitting heroes of the realm, an urgent request was issued by one Lord Patrick, steward of Winterhaven.  It seems that the clandestine underground trade city known as Thunderspire has been cut off from both trade and communications for the last two months!  None is quite sure what has happened, but rumors abound of an army of demonic goblinoids, wearing the faces of their victims and dressed as carnival clowns have risen up from the ancient minotaur labyrinth city located below Thunderspire and began a campaign of terror against the citizens and surrounding countryside.

The Horns of War, moved in a very emotional way by the large bounty being placed on the Blood Clown Klan’s leader, rush to the scene.  It is also important to note that the possibility of discovering more about his origins and people was motivation enough for Bison.  Mounted on their trusty cave lizard mounts the party discovers the secret mountain entrance to the city.  The reception they received from the local militia was…. less than warm.  Cham tried to be as gregarious as possible, showering the locals with warm words and large fistfuls of gold.  Sadly, the party’s unusual appearance, and loud nature, put the already paranoid townsfolk high on their guard.  A few hours spent around town revealed much: the attacks have ben going on for over 8 weeks, 30% of the town’s population has either been killed, kidnapped, or fled, the local militia can barely defend the towns borders, the number of Blood Clowns is currently unknown, but believed to be upwards of 400.

The town is ruled by an unaligned circle of mages, with the two primary leaders both suspecting each other of foul play.  While investigating the second in command, Anklyar, a minotaur wizard with tribal markings identical to Bison’s, he betrayed and left us for dead in a dungeon under his mansion.  With the aid of Skye’s familiar, Rimeclaw, we escaped the death trap and returned to town, only to find the militia waiting for us.  Anklyar had spun a story about us being spies for the Blood Clowns and we were put on immediate trial.  Seeing that the situation had gone south, Cham began using her bardic fast talk to provide the verbal cover the party would need to move towards the nearest exit of the mage tower…

We have to get out of here.

-Cham

new mounts!!!! (yes, they climb walls and ceilings)

copywrite some other artist

MNF session 13: Heroes of Winterhaven

“Enough!” bellowed Kalariel as his skull capped scepter came crashing down on Bison’s chest.  The skull animated, its hollow sockets glowing with an unearthly red light, and sank its teeth deep into his minotaur flesh.  As the blood flowed freely into the skulls fanged mouth Kalariel began to swell with vampiric strength, his vitally bolstered from the theft of Bison’s heroic blood.  “It is too late for you! To late for all of you! The portal to the Shadowfell at last stands open! Death! Death to all the living!”  As if in answer to his claims even more undead began their slow march from the Shadowfell into our world.  Stomping over the corpse of Sir Keegan and slowly making their way towards us.  Buenniseus, fired shot after shot after shot, but to no avail.  The sea of dead washed over him and carried him away, piece by piece.

The Horns of War, no strangers to loss, fought on.  “You deal in death and lies Kalariel… and today we have no need of either,” Cham spoke quietly.  Dust, feeling closer to her god and vocation than ever before in her life, or death, continued her whirling bladed dance.  Kalariel’s superhuman speed and resilience would not protect him forever.  Psyche’s electric sword buzzed angrily about Kalariel’s head as Bison’s hammer collided with his torso in a sickening crack.  A bolt of chaotic energy crackled against the side of the vampire’s head. Seizing this opportunity Dust swung her scythe is an upward reap, spilling the bloody insides of the vampire high priest onto the floor.  Grasping at his gaping wound, his skin drying and turning to dust, Kalariel looked one last time at his life’s work, the portal to the Shadowfell, the supposed destruction of our world.  “Master,” he choked, “I have failed you a second time…”

His body quickly dried then shattered into ash and dust.  A booming voice, a voice of one thousand nightmares, came echoing through the portal, “No…. You have failed me for the last time…”  A tremendous forced exploded from the portal and a sickening purple fire burst forth knocking everyone in the chapel to the ground.  As the flame began swirling about in a vortex of ice-cold heat the dead, both undead or corpse, were gathered up and pulled back into the gaping maw of the portal as if by invisible imps.  With a second tremendous boom, the portal to the Shadowfell closed and began to crumble away, like its invoker, to dust and ash.

Later as the Horns of War rode through the town of Winterhaven, celebrated heroes, champions over the darkness, they would look back at that fateful night, the night they had come so close to losing everything, and remember what it was all for…

the phat loots

-cham