RPG Campaigns

Giraine Summaries

You returned into the tunnel that you'd visited years ago as far more naive adventurers. You again snuck past the cave where the fire-bear Kivis slept, and entered the burnt-out remnants of the old steam-tunnels of the “Heart of the Mountain”, recalling some details and noting changes where it had been wrecked by the eruption of the mountain on your prior visit. The “mecha-zombie” workers were all gone now; their cavern of odd apparati was totally destroyed. Sir Menekeyil's sword nonetheless flared with magic, and his voice spoke in Fraud Shaven's mind (a rare thing these days), musing that the sword/spirit remembered this place as its “rebirth”. (it was ~reforged here) Boamund's Glow spell helped you see down in the dark, hot, fume-laden tunnels.

You searched that cavern and onwards for any signs of Star-Thief Roundtip's belt, with no luck and no surprises. The skeletal thing that poled its obsidian craft across the cavern's lake of lava to the far shore was still there, and it took your blood again in offering for crossing. On that far shore, where you'd finally defeated the Venator/steam-vampire in its lair, you had an ominous feeling like its hatred and loneliness still lingered. Fraud Shaven paused and tried to meditate, then broke into the Purple Sonnet, so you all plugged your ears as he gesticulated and intoned. Soon, though, his voice was drowned out by noise of still-active machinery in the two rooms across the cavern: one held a web of pipes that seemed to thread lava through the complex, and dispensed pellets of ?byproduct in one vat, whereas another empty vat seemed to be the former “coffin” of the Venator.

Another room, accessed by touching Fire-Metal-Mastery runes that Boamund perfectly recalled the usage of, was the true Heart of the Mountain, and the hulk of the Mountainsmith stood there. Behind it was the “heart”- a mix of rock, metal, flesh and other substances, pulsing and thundering with deafening force. The room was as you recalled- ringed with counters and shelves where tools and resources lay. This, as the Huru had told you, was very much a still-operational forge. So you tried communicating with the Mountainsmith, who was mute (mouthless) but did respond with some interest, even turning down the pounding “heart” machine to make your speech more audible. With effort, Ahappi managed to trade his iron circlet headband with it, and obtained a piece of obsidian that was beaten thin into a transparent lens inscribed with Truth and Magic runes, through which the holder could see magical essences (1 MP, 50m range, folk magic casting) when held. Satisfied, you left the steam-tunnels. Miguel, whose first visit this was, had been in awe of the strange technology here. Fraud Shaven, who had managed to recoup himself into a meditative state, complained that he felt an evil presence; that of the land itself being wronged down there. You nodded assent. Indeed-the “heart”, the lava like blood… the Venator's former presence here made more and more sense.

The Huru urged you onwards as the night approached. But Elder Wucru took Fraud Shaven aside first and said this: ““In time, you may find the Long Eel, of which the Giranois of Loidar have forgotten, except that it had many names including Sarvon, a name the people of Froalar gave it. If you do learn more of great value on this topic, return and speak to me of this.” Shaven shrugged but smiled in agreement and then told you- the “Long Eel” sounded sort of familiar but the “Sarvon” name was new to all. Fraud felt he needed to meditate on this and other things, so he stayed behind while you moved on for a while.

You insisted to visit the great pteranodon up the mountain. It was a difficult trek up scree slopes and past sulphurous fumes that would make lesser men gag and turn back. You were on a narrow path at one point where runes carved into the ground unleashed two fearsome demons (one bloated and able to cripple foes with flatulence magic; another armed with impaling claws and hanging entrails that grappled with you). This was another fight that tested your best talents (and luck). Miguel avoided the first demon long enough for him to shoot it down with a firearrow, causing its head to explode and shower Ahappi with gore. Boamund faced down the other demon, frustrated by its entangling guts but occupying it long enough for Ahappi to take it out. You moved up to the mountaintop and came upon a ring of great obsidian slabs; inside them crouched the great pteranodon, who had assembled a collection of white pteranodon eggshells into a clear pattern: runes of Magic, Vadeli and Communication/Trade. Aha! So it had been cursed by Skrimton Nodeal, you said, and it nodded sullenly. With a short discussion, its gestures revealed that it did not know how to be freed from this curse but you had misinterpreted its former head-hanging-low gesture: it was shamed by this awful state, and even angry-to emphasize this, it swung its great klanth into the ground on the Vadeli rune pattern. You promised to right this wrong and free it.

Seeing a nice vantage point here, you gazed out at the twilight vista of Giraine. You were above most of the monsoonal clouds and where they had gaps you could see familiar landmarks of the landscape. It was not feasible to see new detail except that there was a strange area, totally unfamiliar to you or anyone you had ever spoken to on this island, where strange dark greyish mists held lowly across a large space; on the northern middle section of the island between the spider/Sharde lands and here. Noting this, you then left the sorry creature Star-Thief Roundtip. On the way down, Ahappi had a nasty tumble on the scree-slopes but survived. You began the hike back to the Shadow.

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