Using My Monsters

Thursday, 29 December 2011

Shnecke's Wolves - Session 10

1:13 – 11:35 – The Kitsune's tails are rescued by the swordmage and Ulnyrr, and then, despite the parties arguments against, the pair try to rescue the wretched people sat, staring blankly in the other cages. In the end, they manage to rescue only five; the rest either refusing to move, or falling to their deaths, impaled and splattered on the stalagmites below.

“Why?” Snarls Grigori to the barbarian as he clambers down the chains, two shivering women thrown over his massive shoulders.

The Ulnyrr gives a cold grin, and simply licks his lips.

Understanding at once, his hunger suddenly returning in a flash of almost painful fire within him, the priest nods, and manages to hold his own pale features in a neutral expression, afraid that the good hearted genasai, or his other squeamish allies may object if they realise the source of the undead's sudden “compassion”.

Nendenaki, having attached his tails, is now wearing the form of a wizened old man of Kai'Yassanian appearance, his attire the simple garb of a peasant farmer. Even in human form his “fur” is silver, and his eyes brilliant green.

“So, what now? It wont take the Oni long to work out we are not dead, and we really do not want to be here when Gasharo returns. I can open a portal to the mortal plane if you wish, though it will take me a little time to do so.”

Everyone nods at this suggestion, eager to be away from this plane and more importantly, the wrath of the T'ien Lung.

“Or,” He continues, his face suddenly taking on a cunning look, his green eyes becoming slitted as a grin curls his wrinkled face, “We could locate the hidden entrance to the monster's treasury that must be here somewhere, and steal his stuff before leaving.”

Everyone looks dumbfounded. “You mean?” Begins Lia.

“Oh yes.” Replies the Kitsune. “Many times have I seen the T'ien Lung here, only to see him slip into some hidden place within the rock. It doesn't take a genius to see the sense in hiding ones treasure in a place as inaccessible as this does it?”

No one can argue with the spirit's reasoning, and it is decided that they are due a little reward for their efforts.

“Let's get searching then.”

11:45 – 11:50: A cunningly hidden doorway, 6' across is located, cut into the ground. Jaeger and Varracuda spend a few moments checking it over for any signs of warding spells, guardian mechanisms or other unpleasant surprises. They find nothing.

11:51 – 11:53: Lia, to the utter amazement of her colleagues, grabs hold of the massive chunk of solid stone, and with barely a grunt, hauls it from its resting place, revealing a tight coil of stone stairs which drop into the belly of the rock. The stairs are curious in that they do not appear to have been carved with chisels or hammers, but somehow shaped from it, much like a potter shapes clay – a sign of potent magic being used.

It is decided that Jaeger shall take the lead, his keen eyes able to spot any harmful wards placed on the way. There is some discussion on what to do with the prisoners liberated by the genasai and Ulnyrr, with Nendenaki suggesting they are sent down first to locate any “surprises” (an idea that not everyone disagrees with). However, it is decided to keep them at the back – though they continue to show little real awareness of their situation or concern about their fates.

11:54 – 12:05: The assassin moves ahead, his gaze scanning the stones, walls and floors for anything harmful. Progress is slow, and in the claustrophobic confines of the coiling steps, the group fight to keep their breathing steady.

“How can a massive monster like the dracani fit down such a narrow stairway?” Wonders Shnecke out loud, his voice a harsh hiss in the darkness, his eyes cold circles of bloody light.

“He can become mist.” Replies Nendenaki in a voice that suggests the answer should be painfully aparent, “Like all T'ien Lung.”

12:06 – 12:20 - The group reach the end of the stairs after descending some 35', a gaping darkness looming beyond the last step. Grigori leans over, and calls for Jaeger, the assassin silently fading into view next to him, before, without a word, leaning over the final step, allowing his senses to reach out into the utter darkness below.

“It's a vast cavern.” He reports, his voice a hollow whisper, “The floor is at least sixty foot down, and the walls, at least a hundred foot removed. Lots of stalagmites and stalactites.”

“I have a rope that should reach.” Replies Grigori.

The group wait whilst a rope is tied around the bottom step, and dropped into the darkness. Grigori immediately moves to begin climbing down, whilst Shnecke activates his Feather Fall ring and steps into the void. At the back of the group, the dazed humans rescued from the cages are encouraged to sit on the steps, and to wait for the parties return.

Everyone else clambers around the top of the rope, watching the priest and the barbarian, clearly outlined by the glow of Grigori's enchanted lantern, as they drop into the darkness towards the caverns floor...

Zunde, an ancient being of elemental earth, bound to the service of the dread Gasharo, awakes, the stillness of the cavern disturbed the arrival of scurrying, soft, warm bloodied things. Thrumming power rumbles silently through his body, and the ground around him, alerting his lesser kin to the danger, and with a deep roar that booms like a shockwave he unfurls his massive bat-like wings, flexes his four muscular arms, and leaps into the air, swooping towards the robed mortal on the ground, who frantically searches for the source of the noises he can hear, a melted sword held high in puny defence.

...Gargoyles, hidden amongst the forest of stalactites and stalagmites swoop in to harry Shnecke and Grigori, and before they have even had chance to raise their weapons or to utter the words to a spell, both are bleeding heavily, attacked from above and besides by the fleeting, shredding aggressors. Five of the monsters are roughly the same size as a human; rocky, daemonic creatures with grotesque horned heads, bat-like wings and razor-sharp claws. One however is three times their size; a four-armed brute with luminous red eyes and fearsome, unnatural strength.

Seeing the critical state of their allies below, and the circling monsters that even now prepare for their next assault, the rest of the group scramble to get down the rope. In his haste, Varracuda slips, and tumbles to the floor. Fortune however smiles upon him, and he manages somehow to briefly snare upon the rope, slowing his tumble somewhat – though he is still seriously hurt when he smashes, standing, to the ground.

Jaeger opts to stay above and to fire at the monsters from the cover of the stairwell's exit, whilst Nendenaki and Lia begin a slow clamber down the rope to the battle below. Thatari hangs back, offering to keep an eye on the humans.

What unfolds is a desperate battle.

The ardent struggles to climb down the rope, and at one point is almost killed by Zunde when he turns his full attention to her; slashing her sides with his claws, trying to dislodge her and send her wailing to a painful, sudden stop far below. The rest of the group fight desperately against the gargoyle's hit and run tactics, struggling to land blows against their elusive enemies, though little by little, they begin to pick apart their foes. The battle is rough however, and within moments all of them are left bleeding and panting, weak and light headed from the gargoyle's relentless assaults.

Zunde proves a truly awesome enemy, and Lia fears that she will soon be slain by him, as she endures another ripping flurry of clawed slashes at her flanks, her blood falling like crimson rain to the stones below. Weakening, she begins to lose her grip, and fights desperately to move safely to the ground, so she can properly defend herself. However, Zunde gives her no chance to gather her wits, and it is only a twist of fate against him that stops his focused attacks on the ardent; his wings clipping the rope to which she clings, his flight suddenly upset.

With a bellow, the massive gargoyle crashes to the ground, his stony flesh cracking as he crunches into the stalagmites that cluster below, the air filling suddenly with both his roars of pain, and billowing clouds of gritty, choking dust. Seeing him downed, the Ulnyrr charges him, axe raised, his eyes feral in the flickering gloom. Reaching the horror he jumps up and hacks down at it whilst it struggles to rise. The axe chops in, but to his horror the stone where the blade touches turns liquid, forming tentacles which reach out, trying to rip it free from Shnecke's hands. With a roar, the barbarian shifts his blade aside, plunging it into a still solid area, scoring a solid hit. The blow is accompanied by a devastating roar, which sends a terrible blast of elemental thunder booming forth on the wings of the Ulnyrr's battle cry, weakening the stony hide of the beast. Berserk, the Ulnyrr is not yet done, and with a howl, he focuses his fury into another ferocious blow, hoping to end the fiend before him quickly. However, the massive gargoyle turns aside the worst of this blow with an arced, intercepting wing.

Varracuda also darts in towards the downed monster, his body wreathed in crackling sparks, the air around him sharp with ozone. A burst of lightning, focused through his blade, sizzles into Zunde, tearing through the minute fractures opened by the barbarian's attack, chipping a sheet of stone from his forehead. As this stone slides free, it reveals a pulsing, violet sigil on Zunde's forehead, rendered in tiny shards of crystal.

The party piles in, the lesser gargoyles desperately trying to distract them from their downed lord, raking at the adventurer's with their talons, shrieking deafeningly. However, the party ignore them as best they can, and focus on bringing the deadly brute down, raining blow after blow upon him, his weakened skin allowing them to sink deep into his living stone body.

In the end it is Grigori, wielding the snarling chainblade of Balskus Morvel, that ends Zunde, the powerful artifice weapon chewing through his stony hide as if it were paper. The massive elemental monster shrieks in pain, his life force finally spent, and crashes to the ground in cloud of dust and hot, peppery air. As he dies, so the rune on his forehead pulses with malevolent light, sending a wave of pins-and-needles through everyone in the chamber as its magic is unleashed – an alarm beacon, sent to Gasharo, that warns the T'ien Lung of his primary guardians death, and that his treasury is being invaded. In response, a thousand tiny bells, like delicate crystal wind chimes, begin to ring around the chamber, and everyone realises at once what the sound means.

“Change of plan!” Screams Grigori, “Nendenaki, get that portal open, everyone else kill these bloody gargoyles! Fuck the treasure, we need to get the hell out of here.”

Several members of the party agree with this, and the Kitsune (grey from blood loss, having been seriously wounded by Zunde, and rescued by Grigori and Lia's restorative powers), begins to inscribe a circle of runes on the bloody floor of the cavern.

“Wait!” Yells Varracuda, smashing one of the remaining gargoyles out the air (only two remain now, the others having been chopped down into piles of fuming rubble), “What if we can locate the entrance to whatever place holds the dracani's treasures? Could we not hide in there, or at least use its defences to slow the monster's approach?”

Jaeger fires his crossbow in the face of one of the remaining monsters, wincing as his own wounds grate against themselves, feeling a hot line of blood arcing down the small of his back. “Could be a good idea.”

Varracuda nods, breaking away from the whirling melee, and allowing his senses to slip into a different level of being; a level where the lines of magic are clearly visible. It takes him a while, but soon he can see the various energies as pulsing webs and lines of light; the rigid, edged lines within his allies weapons and armour, the flowing, liquid lines of spells being woven and focused. He can see the dazzling mists of innate power flooding through the gargoyles as they try to draw upon their own magics, and sees the lights go out entirely in one as it is brought down, and shattered by one of the Ulnyrr's deadly attacks.

Scanning the chamber, the air is thick with the magics of the triggered alarm; a confusing “static” of grey and violet energy that makes focusing on fine details difficult. Luckily, what he seeks is neither small or subtle, and he quickly locates a section of floor, 10' x 10' that is covered in a layered net of stable magics, that he immediately recognises as an illusion.

“Over there!” Yells the swordmage, pointing, “An illusion covers something.”

With a force of effort, he focuses a wave of disrupting energy towards the illusion's nets, breaking them like a strong breeze ripping cobwebs. At once, everyone looking at that area sees a heavy circular doorway of Gothniir appear, set into the floor, its front heavily armoured with scaled plates of the hard golden metal.

“Get it open!” Bellows Varracuda, allowing his senses to slip back to normal, a wave of dizziness briefly stealing his breath. “Get it open before the dracani arrives!”

The last gargoyle, almost cracked open, has furled its wings around itself protectively, and hardened its flesh, becoming all but invulnerable to the attacks of the group. Frustratingly, they can see the cracks in its body slowly mending as its innate regenerative powers begin to work, restoring it slowly to full health. Whilst Grigori hammers at the thing with the artifice weapon, hoping its sharp teeth will find some weakness and open the monster up, the rest of the group scramble over to the revealed portal.

12:21 - “It's a bi-metallic strip.” Mutters the assassin after a moments examination, “A powerful source of heat must be used on the door to activate its mechanisms. Without that, the door will need literally days of hammering to get open.”

“It makes sense,” Replies the Kitsune, his ritual abandoned now that a possibly more secure locate for it to be worked has been found, “A T'ien Lung can breathe fire hot enough to vaporise stone. Luckily, Arjiin, is harder to melt than almost any other metal or stone.”

“Arjiin?” Asks Jaeger quizzically.

The Kitsune taps the Gothniir.

“Ah.”

Thursday, 22 December 2011

Ormid et al - Session Report - 12/12/2011

00:24 – 00:40 – It takes the group some time to locate the tower of the Disciples of Change. Llewellyn and Shadevia both clamber up a nearby tower – the vyrleen almost coming to a nasty end when his clambering causes a large section of tower wall above him to slip and tumble down.

On the roof, the vyrleen finds that his eyes are barely able to penetrate the darkness and thick smoke that veils the inner districts of the city. However, with eyes born to see the subtle variations of shadow that make up her home plane, the shadeling is able to spot a wide, circular road that surrounds the central districts. At regular intervals along this road stand circular plaza's - filled with smoke, rubble and in some, bodies – about 10 in all. In the middle of one of these rises an impossible tower of smoke, glass and fire.

“Found it!”

“Where?” whispers Llewellyn, peering into the night.

“On the other side of the column of smoke rising from the south...err...hang on...”

As she watches, the tower begins to shimmer strangely, illuminated by a colourless light that seems to spring, vital and bright from the edge of the plaza. The air around the tower becomes agitated, and suddenly seems to blister, the tower becoming hazy and ill defined, as if seen suddenly through a smeared lens.

“What's happening?” Asks the vyrleeen, still unable to see anything through the smoke that billows across the city.

“It's changing it's.....hang on...”

In the middle of another plaza, at least a mile or more removed from the one in which the tower stood a moment before, the air begins to seethe and blister, and suddenly, another tower – a leaden thing of black stone, covered in glowing golden runes and pulsing with a blue aura of power – manifests. As this tower appears, so the first vanishes, becoming a formless blur surrounded with coruscating light, before simply vanishing.

Llewellyn sees the shadeling's mouth fall open, and begins to whine at her, begging to know what she has seen. Shaking her head, Shadevia explains that the Disciple's tower appears to teleport and to change form, apparently moving between any one of a number of pre-set locations.

“We can catch it up.” She grins.

00:46 – 01:10 (5/1/50) The group move through the shattered streets, now focused on a definite goal. Around them the horrors of the upheavals are plentiful; dismembered or burned bodies, bloated and flyblown, lie in piles or twist slowly from gummy ropes thrown over charred and exposed beams. Slogans written in Lower Malgorothian declare unknown hatred or rhetoric, whilst scattered remnants of normal life incongruously lie amongst the carnage, highlighting the stark contrast between life here a few months ago and today.

“So, we find one of these plazas,” States Ormid, his massive artifice arm whooshing as his forced march causes him to swing it, “and we wait until the tower manifests. Then then we rush up to it, and demand to be let in.”

“And if they refuse?” Asks Llwellyn.

“Den I have the key.” Replies Vladislav with a nasty chuckle.

01:11 – 01:13 – The group arrive at the wide street that encompasses the central districts, a sign declaring it Cercle Rue. It is wide and paved with rosy stone, though its beauty is marred by the ash, soot and blood cooked onto it, and buried beneath rubble and debris. Moving to the south, the group soon come across one of the wide circular plazas. No one is here, though a stray dog tugs at something buried under some rubble by one side, and a grotesque guillotine stands, stained dark with blood, at its northern edge.

01:13 – 01:26 – The group stand waiting, the night burning around them. They note the sounds of gunfire splattering from the inner districts, and see several large, shuddering bursts of light from something within the heart of the city, followed moments later by flat, ugly rumbles. At one point a ragged looking man, wearing dirty and bloodied military garb and carrying a musket, stumbles into the plaza. However, he flees almost at once upon spying the group, ducking back into the darkness of the shattered buildings that surround it.

Time seems to drag, and for a moment, the group are not sure the current plan is a good one. However, just as they are starting to draw up plans for tracking the shifting tower, the air in the middle of the plaza begins to boil with power, a previously unseen ring of carved runes flaring to brilliant, yellowish life around its perimeter.

The air buckles and writhes with energy, and those with eardrums feel them pop as dimensional pressures are exerted across the area. Gusts of hot wind burst from the central area, throwing up cloud of debris, and everyone is forced to turn away from the manifesting tower by its bite.

A booming rumble shakes the ground and air, and suddenly the winds die down.

The tower has arrived.

At this time, it appears as an unreal tree with a trunk of silvery-white metal. Its canopy is apparently woven from roaring emerald flames, the branches reaching into them clearly holding chambers and rooms. Hanging from the “canopy” are a number of curious structures, made from the same metal as the trunk and branches. Each is pendulous, and vary in size from a couple of feet, to several meters in length. The larger ones have windows and are clearly some kind of hanging chamber. The others however, seem to be something else.

Llewellyn blows a low whistle, and picks up a nearby piece of rubble. Then, before anyone can stop him, he throws it at one of the smaller hanging objects, closer to the trunk of the tower tree.

The stone flies lazily through the air, and comes within inches of the vyrleen's target. Then it strikes some invisible field, and in a burst of white smoky energy is transformed into a dove, which immediately flies away.

“Oh?” Gasps Ormid.

“Polymorph field. Potent.” Replies the Helldazzler.

“Well, it need to come down if we are going to get in.”

“And we need to do it before the tower decides to move on.” Answers the warforged.

Ormid nods, and peers at the trunk, noting a curiously waxy glimmer to its surface.

“They're using transientum I think, as the basis for a random clock to trigger the move.”

Everyone looks at the artificer like he is speaking another language. Tutting, he explains further.

“Transientum is a strange crystalline substance formed in the psychic plane by particularly potent dimensional pressures. Once formed, it enters into a curious cycle of decay, shifting gradually from the immaterium to the physical plane, and then, once fully manifested in this world, back, slowly to the other.
“You can, with effort, control this decay, and use it as the basis for a timer. It's not easy, but if it's done right, it can be very, very effective. I think they have used such a system to activate the gate engines within this structure, and would hazard...”

He trails off, casting his eyes over the structure, de-constructing it in his head, and analysing the systems needed to accomplish its feats.

“...That the engines can be delayed through the correct application of arcane pressure.”

“Vot about da polymorph field?” Asks Vladislav.

“The hangy thingies.” Replies Llewellyn, a gleam in his eye. “Seen something similar before. I reckon I can crack one open, and shut it down.”

Everyone looks doubtful, both because the field seems to cover them all, and because they are suspended at least 60' above the floor. Seeing this, the rogue only grins.

He then speaks a soft word of power, and everyone feels a prickling energy flicker through the air. At once, Llewellyn begins to float off the ground, a ring on his hand shimmering with pearly light.

“There are several that hang outside the field, probably to ensure it stays stable and doesn't go lashing about, turning anyone passing by into pigs or something. I think I can make a hole in the field – a thin one mind – by messing with one of them. Just give me a mo.”

01:27 – 01:30 – Alas, Ormid is unable to hold the tower in place, and before the vyrleen can open a safe way through the polymorph field, the gate engines rumble to life, and the vast structure once more melts into nothingness...

...Only to re-appear in the same place a moment later, now in the form of a great spire of glowing white crystal and gold rutile.

01:30 – 01:32 – Having had some practice, the artificer reaches out with his art and quickly locates the potent magics that drive the gate engines. Gritting his teeth, he mentally grasps them, and applies enough arcane pressure that they grind to a halt, the local planar fabric throbbing with the power this requires.

For now, the tower isn't going anywhere, though he knows his “grip” will begin to slip sooner rather than later.

Whilst he does this, the floating vyrleen locates another of the access devices (which now appear as large crystalline lanterns, hanging from complicated hooks of luminous runes), and plunges straight into trying to safely open and then to disable the mechanisms within. This is not as easy as he initially thought it would be, and he nearly trips an internal protection enchantment. However, his expertise wins out the day, and after several tense moments of jabbing, twisting and carefully cutting, everyone feels an icy tingle in the air, as a section of the unseen polymorph barrier collapses.

“Done it!” Yells Llewellyn, drifting back down, “Though we all need to be pretty careful. I reckon there is only about a three foot section that's safe.”

The Veteran and Vladislav – both clad in bulky armour – don't look too happy about this.

01:34 – 01:36 – The exact edges of the defences are located by throwing several pebbles at the supposedly cleared area, those contacting the still active area immediately becoming beetles or flies. With the safe zone more clearly defined, the group begin to move through, Ormid waiting until last, sweat pouring from his brow, as he holds the struggling gate engines in check.

The Veteran almost has an unpleasant experience when his bulky form strays into the danger zone, a violent ripple of transmutational magic coursing through him, trying to re-sculpt his form into something new, harmless and unintelligent. Luckily, his unnatural constitution serves as a barrier against its terrible, warping passage, and he emerges within the field unchanged.

With everyone through, Ormid, with a gasp, releases the magics enmeshing the tower's gate engines, and leaps through the breach. At once the air begins to seethe with dimension breaching magics, the artificer's teeth aching from its rush.

However, Llewellyn runs up to the great double doors that open into the tower before them, and with a yell, begins to hammer on them, his fists creating a surprising amount of noise in the building beyond. Almost at once, they swing wide, and the group are met by a rake thin, shaggy bearded old man, dressed in a truly archaic style; long dark purple robes of heavy velvet, covered in crescent moons, pentacles and other arcane symbols. Atop his balding pate rises a conical hat, marked with the same symbols as his robes, and around his neck hangs an ornate symbol depicting a crescent moon bisected by a multicoloured flame.

He has a wild look; staring, protuberant eyes, prominent, hollow cheeks, and when he speaks, it is clear he only has a few teeth remaining in his head. He speaks with a heavy, nasal Lower Malgorothian accent, though thankfully, in tradespeak.

“Oo de 'ell are you? Coming 'ere and bashing on ma' door?”

Llewellyn grins. “We are...”

He is shoved aside, and Ormid steps before him, giving the mage a somewhat forced smile. His hands held up in what he hopes is a placating gesture.

“My name is Ormid Thefler. Dragon slayer, time traveller and master artificer. We would like to ask...”

The mage seems to swell up with anger.

“Yeu are not welcome in zis place, and must leave at once! 'Ow dare you tamper wiz our defences!”

Ormid stops talking.

“Listen you,” Pipes up the rogue suddenly, “Why don't you go back to your sweeping, and let one of the real mages talk with us eh?”

Everyone flinches at the insult. The mage's grey face turns a strange shade of blotchy purple before...

...The door swings fully open, revealing a well built young mage, dressed in the same garb as the first. He gives the rangy mage a judgemental glare, shaking his head, and to the groups amusement, forcefully hands him a broom.

Àelon, I believe zis is yours?”

The other mage looks like he may burst, but manages to choke out an apologetic confirmation in his native tongue, before retreating into the corridor beyond.

The young mage smile at the group, his pale blue eyes shining. “Bonjour. I am Anton Azvierre, arch-mage of the disciples of change. You must have quite ze reason for coming 'ere and risking not only ze dangeurs of ze city, but also ze wards of our tower. Given zat, I am willing to listen to your tale, zo” He pauses, a moment, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand, “I am not so impressed by ze company you are keeping.”

His last comments are clearly pointed at Vladislav, who manages, somehow, to keep his tongue in check, though the spikes on his gauntleted fists snap out in irritation.

06:40 – The group, having talked into the night with Anton, won the help of the disciples, and then slept, prepare to leave the tower to help Vladislav in his hunt for Siskeer. They know, thanks to the divinations of Rammanum, that their prey lairs within a desecrated temple once dedicated to the Goddess Daragnae'Jaedala – Goddess of motherhood, birth and nurturing – and is accompanied by more soldiers, and several “Cannon Golems”; walking siege engines. They also know that the deadly Count Vorgor Khebletzi is with him – a man who, according to the Helldazzler, could be more than a match for their entire band by himself.

Vladislav does give the group the option of leaving without him, but they chose to help him complete his duty, recognising that he has helped them many times already, and is deserving of their support.

Saturday, 17 December 2011

Yirlantir's Ghost - Level 20 Controller

Firstly, a game report is on its way! Finally got a game last week, and just not had the time to get the write up done. 

Secondly, I tend to plan my adventures in a fairly sandboxy way, even when the setting would seem to be quite restrictive. This ensures that when my players predicatably do something I would never have forseen, I am at least 60% prepared. In the case of the Glorious Brick and its ghostly inhabitant, I was not sure if the group would realise that the ghost was of more use to them - ahem - "alive" than dead, and so prepared the stats for poor Yirlantir, just in case. 

If you are a regular reader, you know what actually happened. However, just so you know what they may have faced, here are the dead ghaerduun's stats. 

Enjoy (and remember to add +10 to the stat modifiers listed in the lower section)



Friday, 9 December 2011

Angel Minor of Azrael - Level 11 Elite Skirmisher

With characters levelling up, illness, and RL tasks, there has not been a game for a couple of weeks - hense no updates. However, here is a monster that Grigori and the gang managed to avoid when they first returned to the Tortured World - An Angel Minor of the Weeping Angel, Azrael; The Silent Shepherd. 

(Add +5 to the stat modifiers at the bottom for half the monsters' level)


"They are spectral things, surrounded always by ghostly funereal wrappings, and phantom pressures. In form they are like their Lord; humanoid skeletons dressed in flowing robes, bearing a great scythe and an hour glass. Though I am sure they do not need them to fly, each also bears a pair of raven like wings, which they flourish during battle, giving them a terrible, dread majesty. Few of a sane state of mind can stand to be near them long, and simply die of fright. I myself can hardly sleep now, knowing that one day, when my time comes, it shall be one of these terrible things that comes to take me away...

- From "Reflections on past Glories" , by Azfarael Nar'Hezz

Friday, 2 December 2011

Carnox - Level 12 Skirmisher

Found this fellow - a giant fey cat used by the aelwyn as mounts and war beasts - lurking in my monster vaults, and thought I would share. Don't forget to add +6 to all the modifiers listed after the stats to get the correct overall bonus!

CARNOX (Aelwyn War Cat)


A Carnox is a sleek grey-blue furred felid native to certain fey dimensions. It is favoured for its deadly bite, great speed, intelligence, and ability to bear a rider into battle. Various strains of Carnox  have been bred by the aelwyn, including the "Red Roar" and "Green Shadow" variants, and there are rumours of even more manipulated strains with breath weapons and teleportive powers. 

An adult Carnox stands about the same size as a warhorse, and weighs about 1 ton.