Editorial Note: Hyperborea is a love letter to Appendix N mainstay Clark Ashton Smith's Hyperborea cycle, which is in turn a love letter to the works of Robert E. Howard and H. P. Lovecraft. In efforts to achieve that classic pulp literature feel, it often cleaves too closely to the source material - in particular the racial politics of those Appendix N authors, which borders on the phrenological. Pict Half-Blood and Esquimaux, in particular, are extraordinarily racist and not merely a "product of their time," if there is such a thing. The Historical Analog Gaming Society believes that while art and artists can be entertaining, influential and enjoyable despite having problematic or offensive content, that problematic and offensive content needs to at least be acknowledged if not discussed. We haven't changed anything in the text for our playthrough, but there are elements that give icks, so content warnings for racism apply.
Andromeda: Vendalla, Common ditch digger; Meret of the Elk Clan, Lapp herder; Eulalia Eugeneidoros, Amazon bowyer, and Usekhmehi thugatêr Iôdas, Ixian snake handler.
Lavender: Adrasteia Sostratedoros, Amazon spy; Ÿaaÿ G̱ooch, Tlingit woodcutter; Rinnan thugatêr Xobas, Ixian snake handler; and Líadan Inghean Camran, Kelt outlaw.
Frances: Ch’eet G̱ooch, Pict Half-Blood gongfarmer; Tuw, Esquimaux-Ixian entrails reader; Herdís Steinsdóttir, Viking brewer; and Rhel, Common eunuch.
Penny: To-rasha, Mu scribe; Yéil G̱ooch, Pict Half-Blood gongfarmer; Endo Kijo, Lemurian mercenary; and Maniitok, Esquimaux shaman.
Player Start: We decided that the players' home village was one of the many Half-Blood Pict settlements along the Savage Boreal Coast. The village of Cé sits far south, almost to the Gibbering Fields, and is - or was - home to some 864 souls. For generations the people of Cé lived a rude existence hunting, fishing, logging, and alternating between trading and raiding their neighbors. That all changed the night Crotor, Black King of the Picts, arrives. For three days Crotor's soldiers took what they wanted from the townsfolk. On the third night, the members of this impromptu adventuring company were roused roughly from their beds and brought to the town hall where Crotor had made his throne. The Pict chieftain, huge and fell, thumbed the blade of his battle-ax while addressing the party. "To the south of here, where the steam-vents spit noxious fumes and the sky boils in summer, there is a cave - you know it as the Devil's Maw. I have dreamed of this place - its deathless flames, its twisting caverns. There is something within, an object of great power; I am certain of it. Find it and retrieve it for me. Or else..." At this proclamation, one of the company's neighbors was brought into the hall by a trio of Picts. The Black King laughed cruelly. "Or else, each day at sunrise and sunset where I remain unsatisfied, one of your fellows loses their heads!"
Ten hours passed in tense silence as the company was matched at spearpoint to the cave to the south, accompanied by twenty Picts. Tucked against a rocky ridge, the heat from the fume-vents was oppressive and mildly intoxicating and reeked of scorched stone, burnt oil, and sulfur. Noxious clouds waft out from the cave entrance. The Picts cast torches into the cave entrance, then beckoned with their spears. It was at this point that Vendalla had the fateful idea of attempting to make a break for it and was immediately skewered by a Pict spear. The others decided to do as they were bidden... Save for Usekhmehi and Tuw, who hatched a revenge plot in honor of their murdered comrade-in-arms. 4 of the greedier Picts were lured into the noxious caverns - the Ixian and the Esquimaux-Ixian let out a great cry that they had discovered a cache of treasure - and the entire group set upon them.
The Picts were taken by surprise and quickly outflanked by the company; during the surprise round two of the Picts were cut down and one severely injured, with Adrasteia nearly beheading one with her short sword crit. The Picts rallied desperately, killing Meret with a single thrust and badly wounding Adrasteia, rendering her unconscious and losing blood. Yéil would avenge Meret, and Herdís caved in the last Pict's skull with her club. Fearful of the rest of the Picts coming down upon them the company quickly stripped the bodies, recovering a leather jack, 3 spears, 3 daggers, a short sword, a torch, a and a pair of money pouches before retreating further into the cave, dragging Adrasteia with them.
At the rear of the cave they came across a circular well of sooty brass, with iron rungs descending downwards into darkness. Herdís was able to rouse Adrasteia with a draught of her honey-mead, and as she slowly came to there was a titanic roar and a blast of blue-orange flames from out of the well, thankfully dissipating harmlessly on the ceiling but greatly worrying the company. How would they descend safely without being incinerated? After some conversation it was decided that Rinnan and Yéil, the two most nimble, would make the attempt first, and determine what was at the bottom of the well. Bringing a torch with her, Rinnan quickly descended first; too quickly, in fact, as she failed her test of dexterity and plummeted some fifty feet to the bottom, shattering her bones and killing her instantly.
Deciding to take her chances with the eruptions - of which there had yet to be a second - Yéil descended at a more cautious pace, emerging past Rinnan's still form into a cavern littered with scores of ancient brass lamps and lanters. Strange blue gas emanated from the walls, burning off in sparks of blue and green flame when they touched Rinnan's fiercely-burning torch. The "trap" averted, but at the cost of another of their companions. Usekhmehi "liberated" the adder from Rinnan's sack, adding it to her own. The others rooted around in the lamps, recovering some 80 gp worth of precious stones and metals embedded in some of the more ancient of lamps, and also concentrating two flasks' worth of lamp oil in the more intact lamps.
The cavern narrowed as it exited the chamber of lamps, twisting this way and that. In a dead end, To-rasha discovered a skeleton on an ancient throne, a grimoire bound in demon-flesh with plates of hammered gold in its lap. Fearing not sorcery, the scribe was able to comprehend the first plate at least - a primer on mastering the uncaring forces of Chaos and thusly wield sorcery, with the proper study.
Heading down the opposite path this time, the company came to a circular chamber pockmarked with brackish pools of oily water, periodically bursting into flames. At the center a crude altar chiseled in the pit of a broken stalagmite filled with burnt offerings. As the company cautiously advanced, eight flames larger than the rest erupted simultaneously all around them, swirling and dancing in a mischievous and slightly threatening manner. To-rasha hypothesized that a burned offering was required to pass, and sacrificed her parchment upon the altar. The lesser fire elementals began to swirl instead around the freshly-lit altar, allowing the company to pass unmolested.
The path took them up rounded stone steps to a narrow fissure, behind which stood a lake of black and oily water, illuminated by intermittent flames dancing upon its surface. As they approached the fissure, the waters rippled and parted; a black-mailled hand thrust outwards, holding aloft a soot-covered blade wreathed in ebon flames. Her eyes glistening with avarice,
Adrasteia pushed past the others and made to seize the blade for herself. As she did so, the mailled hand tapped her on both shoulders with the blade, and for one terrible second she was wreathed in flames! To the amazement (and horror) of the company, when the flames subsided Adrasteia was unharmed and clutching the flame-covered longsword. Hellish princedoms occupied the Amazon's noble brow...
GM's note: the SV for Adrasteia to remain un-immolated was 17 and Lavender JUST passed. We then spent the next five minutes cheering. The stats for the hell-knight longsword are as follows: WC 2, Weight 4, Damage 1d8 (1d10), Melee Attack Modifier equal to wielders' level, and the wielder can burn a point of stamina to wreathed the blade in flames for 1 round, increasing fire damage dealt by 1d6. Burned stamina recovers at 1 point per day's rest but cannot be healed by a cleric. The wielder, now a Knight of Hell, also begins to receive directives from the netherworld.
Departing the fissure, the company returned to the primal altar and its mischievous worshippers, but this time elected not to burn any offerings. This immediately proved to be a mistake: To-rasha's parchment had burnt to ashes by the time they'd returned, and the little fire elementals swiftly decided that if the company would not make any offerings, they would serve as the offerings! Yéil was immediately incinerated by one of the fulgurates leaping into her open mouth, and To-rasha was severely burned when another fastened itself to her scalp, searing her hair down to the skull. Only Eulalia and Usekhmehi could hit the elementals at all, and their weapons did nothing - thinking quickly, Ÿaaÿ attempted to another the flames on the altar, hoping to kill all of the fulgurates at once, or at least provide a necessary distraction so that the rest of the company could escape. Unfortunately for Ÿaaÿ, this put her between the altar and the fulgurates, who burned her to ashes before she could flee.
Fleeing deeper into the labyrinthe caverns, the company found themselves before a strange antediluvian pillar of stone and gilt copper, each plate with a bas-relief image upon it. Seven plates repeated seemingly infinitely, depicting the endless cycle of death and rebirth of a chaotic warrior. To-rasha, hypnotized by the graven images, spun the strange and ancient prayer-wheel... and immediately lost a point of Charisma as the forces of Chaos assailed her brain. The others decided to leave well enough alone and rest here for a time. Six hours of sleep would mean the death of a neighbor, but might be the difference to prevent the death of one of the company.
Once rested, the company proceeded. The rough caves gave way to an intricately-worked stone corridor; walls covered in soot-stained mosaics of robed figures performing blasphemous rituals, spaced apart by intermittent flights of stairs, each one exactly seven steps. To-rasha studied the mosaics for some time, attempting to glean their meaning, but was eventually dragged away by the others as they ascended the stairs to summit a dais scored by deep and geometric lines chiseled into the stone. In the center of the dais, a pair of great brass doors flanked by black marble pillars. Half-melted and tumbled candles surrounded the doorway in a vague circle.
There was a great deal of conversation as how to proceed: To-rasha and Maniitok were of the opinion that whatever ritual must be enacted to open the portal should proceed, while Ch’eet, Tuw and Herdís begged the others to find an alternate way through - or even out - as they were unwilling to partake in whatever foul sorceries would be required. To-rasha insisted that they would simply need to alight seven candles - the number seven being sacred or at least significant to this place - and the doors would almost certainly open. Kijo noted that the interior of the geometries on the floor had been glassed to black from a terrible heat and suggested they should remain to the outside, for fear of being incinerated. This, at least, all agreed upon. Usekhmehi countered that the bas-reliefs leading up to the dais showed robed figures standing within the circle and not without. They argued for some time, until in the end Usekhmehi and To-rasha decided to remain within the circle while the others remained without, and they would meet whatever fate the Gods decided to mete out.
With the seventh candle lit, the doors burst aflame and a massive wave of heat radiated outwards from the keyhole, in which a burnished brass key materialized. Usekhmehi grasped the blistering key in both hands and turned, then attempted to push open the great doors, and... not only did the doors remain closed, but all seven candles snuffed out one by one. A fierce row broke out between the PCs over to whom blame should be assigned.
It was at precisely this time that the swirling shadows around the still-blazing door manifested into the visage of a pair of terrible spectres who pounced upon Rhel.
Taken by surprise, the shades pounced, and where their ragged claws passed was no blood or rent flesh but a draining of the soul. The PCs quickly rallied and slew the shades, but Rhel was quite pale, and the great doors remained sealed. They resigned themselves to re-lighting the candles and attempting to turn the key again: but this time, they would turn it seven times. In her greatly reduced state, they determined Rhel would accompany the scholars in the center.
With one turn of the key, the shadows around the candles swirled and danced, apparating into a quartet of howling shades. The PCs were able to slay three of the four, but took wounds on return, and on the second turning of To-rasha's brass key another eight shades materialized. The company could only watch in horror as one of the shades put a ghastly hand through Ch'eet's chest, ripping her soul out of her body and leaving her a greying corpse. Another turn of the key made twenty-five shades in total, and the company was only able to slay two of these.
At this point Rhel attempted to join the others in fighting the shades, but found herself blocked by an invisible barrier of force in the inner circle of the candles around the door - she could no more cross the lines on the floor as she could a stone wall. The company slew four more shades - as many as came at them at once - but there were over fifty shades howling and slashing at them all at once, some spitting and snarling ineffectually at the barrier. Tuw was dragged screaming into the mass of shades and had her soul torn to pieces. The company slew five more, but each time To-rasha turned the key, their numbers doubled - fighting the shades was like trying to empty the ocean with a bucket.
With the last turn of the key, several hundred shades were all howling in a hideous chorus, drowning out the desperate cries of the company. To-rasha flung her weight against the doors, and they burst open, revealing a grand balcony atop an impossibility tall tower thrust into a burning sky. Soot-black thrones, giant in stature, overlooked a city of burnished brass below them, and the air reeked of black ash and burnt metal. Wherever the portal led it was better than their present location, and they fled through the burning doors, shades howling at their heels. Blessedly, as soon as they crossed the threshold into the burning city, the shades vanished into the shadows once more.
The company took a moment to take stock of their situation and catch their breath. Behind the thrones - on the other side of the company - massive stairs downwards descended to another floor of this gargantuan tower - guarded by a pair of coal-skinned giants with beards of pure flame. They faced outwards, away from the throne room, clearly not expecting threats from within. Kijo's keen eyes spotted a slim, jewel-encrusted doorway at the bottom of the stairs just behind the giants, and the flash of more jewels and the gleam of silver and gold behind it. Something to appease the Black King must surely lie within - but a little stealth would be required.
The company timed their descent with the crashing of thunder and the eruption of volcanoes, the City of Brass' pyroclastic sky drowning out noise of their descent of the giant stairs. At the very bottom, Kijo attempted to pry loose one of the giant gemstones in the doorframe and was rewarded with a fist-sized opal. The others all entered a gallery overflowing with riches: golden statues of demon princes with jewels for eyes, massive scimitars and silver helms, samite tapestries, and at the very center, sitting upon a "nest" of spun gold and silver twigs, a gargantuan black egg radiating a great heat. This, then, must be their prize.
It took careful work to extract the egg from the giant pillar it sat atop, and all three of Adrasteia, Herdís and To-rasha to carry it. In the meanwhile, Kijo was also helping herself to one of the gigantic scimitars, and the others were determining the golden demon statues were too heavy to be moved. The gold and silver nest beneath the egg, however, could be carried away.
It was a quiet and solemn walk back to the entrance of the cave, through the burning doors and past the cold bodies of so many of their comrades. Just outside the Maw, the raiding Picts had established a rude camp, where a dozen villagers of Cé sat tied and staked, four less their heads. Pictish warriors hooted and jeered as they held the company at spearpoint, awaiting the arrival of the Black King himself. Crotor roared with exhilaration at the sight of the PCs, so focused on the egg that they bore that none of their arms or treasure seemed to draw his attention. With a wave of his mighty ax, he demanded the egg be surrendered to him. Seeing no alternative (other than death), they placed it on the ground before then with little hesitation.
His eyes golden coins of avarice, the Black King sprang forward and smashed open the egg with both hands. A pillar of white-gold flame engulfed the giant Pict, echoing his roar of triumph into a deafening boom. His raiders watched, enthralled, as the phoenix fire burned strength, youth, and vigor into the barbarian chieftain, undoing a lifetime of violent misdeeds. But then in an instant that elation turned to terror as the Black King de-aged first into a teenager, then a child, then a squalling infant before finally disappearing from time and space altogether. The rest of the superstitious Picts, horrified at the sorceries unleashed, fled the scene immediately.
So ended Beneath the Well of Brass! Nine of the original 16 PCs survived - which for a funnel is quite good numbers, but this particular module is very combat-light and puzzle-heavy and they in all honesty might have been able to finish it with three or even two zeroes apiece. In the interests of everyone having an even number of characters, Penny "retired" Maniitok, who would remain in Cé to assume a local leadership role and defend the village from further Pict predations.
To conclude the session, we levelled up the survivors to their level 1 classes. Eulalia's brush with a near soul-draining death had her fascinated with the macabre, so Andy chose Necromancer for her. Similarly, Usekhmehi's brush with sorcery led her down the path of priesthood to the Great Serpent. Adrasteia was an easy choice for Lavender: she would become a warlock of the fire lord persuasion, while Líadan would become a witch. Frances elected to take Herdís down the path of the barbarian, while Rhel would become a bard. Lastly, Penny unsurprisingly made To-rasha a pyromancer, and Kijo would take up the role of armored cataphract.
What we learned: Hyperborea is very deadly, and I think in a more combat-heavy funnel we'd have significantly more casualties. The %-in-6 skill system in lieu of more codified skills makes for very swift task resolution. We're all very much looking forward to playing with our new class abilities: particularly Herdís' pile of barbarian abilities and all of Kijo's defensive capabilities as a cataphract.
Now there was only to determine where to go from here. After a perusal of what primitive maps were available in Cé and listening to the tales of drunks and madmen in the feasthall, they resolved themselves to travel far eastward to the legendary City-State of Khromarium. It would be a long and no doubt arduous journey to the far south, taking ship through the Skarag Coast - a suitable vessel was able to be located, but first there was a small manner of a missing trapper...
- Concordia
No comments:
Post a Comment