THE STORY SO FAR
Let us set the scene. The morning sun
slides into place, its flat face painting the town of Rustwall an
earthy red. Shop owners roll up the shutters to their stores, and the
town's militia stroll the main street leading out of the disused
factory belt. Our intrepid heroes sit around a table in a smoky bar,
the plinking of a technician's stylus occasionally interrupting the
silence. Cabella the centaur wizard, Asheed 'Ki the goat-like Varren
monk, Phylip the insectoid Phyrtha ranger and “Sneaky” Pete the
human bard, sitting and standing around in a cruddy
steel-mill-turned-bar, waiting for a tech to finish fixing the job
board so they can earn some honest pay. How do they know each other?
Not important! Men of action need only mutual admiration to fuel
their companionship!
Anyways, Cabella and Pete became
restless and decided to question the bartender about the issue with
the job board. They clopped on over. Pete, pulling a boombox out of
his leather hoodie, did his best to encourage the barman and
technician to give up some information, then Cabella noticed
something peculiar about the technician. A faint, flame-like aura of
black rimmed the man's collar, a tell-tale sign of a Touched one,
people who've received a blessing from the Nebulim. Being a Nebulim
fanatic, Cabella enthusiastically questioned the man, while Pete put
on a show of his street dancing prowess for the bored barman.
Meanwhile, Phylip noticed a strange
couple in the back corner of the bar. Two Phyrtha, like himself, an
aged male with a sallow look handcuffed to a young female, who bore
cropped antennae. Intrigued by the taboo look of the girl, Phylip
approached their table. The male explained her predicament, for she
was unlawfully bred outside of the limits, and would need to be
repatriated. The girl flipped Phylip all four birds as he walked
away, shocked at her parents disdain for Phyrtha law.
A fluorescent glow traced its way
along a pipe on the ceiling, flowing into the board as the technician
finished his work and began to pack away his tool-bag. The orange
light swirled into the aethersand contained within the board,
solidifying into posted job requests and bounties. Surveying the few
available postings, the group decided to take up a ladies offer to
put down her father. The old man had passed away in his study,
listening to music while reliving his glory days in the war. As we
all know, people of experience who die often manifest the
crystallized Anima in their hearts, which draw in surrounding Aether,
reanimating their bodies. The music box, pulling a direct stream of
Aether out of the wall, provided plenty of energy to power up a
corpse. And so poor Mary Everett was in need of someone to put her
father to rest in the neighboring town of Rustvale.
Before they left the bar with a task
in mind, Ol' Sneaky Pete convinced the technician to share some
Nebulim info with the trembling Cabella. The man leaned forward and
uttered the cryptic phrase, “I am Legion, for we are many.” and
chuckled to himself, walking out the door. The party followed into
the narrow streets of Rustwall. Sunlight streamed through hanging
wires and rats scurried away at their feet as they headed to the
Mall, the town square, to stock up before leaving. The buzzing of
ethereal energy pumping through exposed piping above their heads did
nothing to silence the pleas for help coming from an alley ahead.
Asheed heroically rushed towards the
cries, coming face to face with three of his fellow Varren, beating
an old man beside a loading lift. His martial prowess failed him,
however, as the three thugs lashed at him with their horned arms,
wounding the old goat and knocking him unconscious. The other three
rounded the corner in time to see this. Pete fired his handgun at one
of the Varren, who crumpled as the energy burst plowed into his side.
Cabella, thinking quickly, doused the fighters in grease, causing
them to slip and fall, then distracted the one who'd downed Asheed by
conjuring illusory walls around the angry goat-man. Phylip provided
covering fire with his rifle while Pete retreated, and together they
took down the third Varren, who chased after Pete down the alleyway.
The goat inside the illusory jail could not figure his way out,
angrily pounding at the illusion. Deciding the risk of his ire was
too great, the party finished him off through the illusion.
Asheed pulled himself together and
stabilized before passing out, while the old man groaned in the
corner. He was grateful for the rescue, and offered a mysterious
tincture to cure the wounded monk. While Cabella held open his jaw,
Phylip emptied the vial into the goat mouth, which puckered, turning
blue. The fur around his mouth shriveled back as if burnt, and the
wound on his chest healed instantly. Our ever persuasive bard Pete
interrogated the man about his wonder drug and his Varren attackers.
Thoroughly convinced Pete was an ally, he spilled everything about
the drug-deal gone awry that prompted the assault. The man pulled out
a small baggie filled with golden green paste. Spore, he called it.
Had Asheed been conscious, he could have warned them; but Pete,
impulsive as ever, took the drug and smeared a dab on the old man's
bruised face. Immediately the man grew pale, growling at the bard for
his foolishness. His bruises faded away, and in their place, bulging
muscles and veins. Foaming at the mouth, he struck at Pete, who
quickly snuck away. The nearby centaur was his next target, and the
old man launched himself off the ground, squarely planting his fist
in the poor wizard's jaw. The ranger deftly took the old man out from
range while Sneaky Pete pocketed the baggie of Spore. As the old man
hit the ground, his frothing increased in magnitude. Green,
plant-like fungus rapidly grew out of the twitching body, growing
half a foot in a matter of seconds. Panicking, for Pete new he had
screwed up royally, he yelled for Cabella to cast a grease spell on
the writhing fungus, then lit it up with fiery prestidigitation. The
group gathered up Asheed and quickly left behind the billowing fire,
deciding to leave town directly after that debacle.
A few hours later, we find our party
squatting in a patch of grass outside of Rustvale proper. Resting up
after a harrowing journey, they decided to approach the Everett
estate under cover of night. Ignoring the late arrival, Mary Everett
welcomed the foursome in, explaining her father's demise. Leaving
Mary in the safety of the front room, they all took point outside the
study, waiting for Phylip to breach the door. They could hear the
shuffling and slurred swears of the reanimated corpse within.
All in one action, Phylip kicked in
the door, while Asheed rushed in, punching and striking the zombie
with his forearm horns, ineffectively. Old Man Everett was decked out
in full regalia, his military riding coat, blue and gold with pleated
iron plates on the front, matched perfectly with the ornate pistol
held at his side. The radio continued to drone on in the corner, a
military anthem filling the room with its grandeur. Pete snuck into
the room behind the zombie, and blew a smoking hole in the music box
with his handgun. Focusing on the beast before him, perhaps
flashbacks of the war against the damned goat-men devils fueling his
decayed will, the zombie fired a shot at point blank range, nearly
killing Asheed outright. Asheed took cover, tending to his wounds as
the other fighters drew the zombie's attention. Through attrition and
careful aiming, the two firearm wielders whittled down the powerful
undead, while Cabella used illusion to confuse and delay him. As the
zombie collapsed, Cabella felt the pull of energy from the corpse,
and lowered his hand over Mr. Everett's heart. The flesh soon began
to bulge, until a jagged amber colored crystal emerged, which Cabella
quickly captured with a cloth satchel. He knew just what to do with
it.
Pete, sneaky and puerile as usual,
stripped the zombie of his armored jacket and pistol. About that
time, the music box burst into flames, it's inner working having
smoldered after being shot. Conjuring a burst of water, Cabella put
out the fire before it caught anything else alight. To cover up
taking the old man's weapon, Pete pieced together some scrap from the
music box, hoping it'd look like a broken pistol, then preceded to
the front room, leaving the party to clean up the mess. He thought
it'd be a great idea to pressure Mary Everett for a payment up front,
and bullied her into giving up her watch and necklace for all the
trouble they had in putting her father to rest. Sneaky Pete is an
asshole.
The party took their leave and
traveled back to Rustwall, holding up in a motel to sleep until the
administrative office for the town garrison opened, so they could
turn in the bounty. Never one to stay out of trouble, Pete wandered
off into the warehouse district of town, where a late night party was
being held. Humans and gnomes danced and drank together, while two
Varren sat on the sidelines. A cheerful gnome disc jockey stood on a
table casting dancing lights from his fingertips, dazzling the
dancers. Pete approached the Varren, looking to offload the Spore he
acquired from the back alley drug dealer. The stronger looking of the
two negotiated with him, while his timid partner shook behind him,
hugging one arm and looking around shiftily. The strong one offered a
trade, since he was short on cash, and led Pete out to the back
parking area.
Next to a dumpster was parked a
compact two-seater truck, which the big Varren approached. He popped
open the truck box and pulled out a rifle, causing Pete to tense up.
Instead of bringing the barrel to bear on the bard, he cracked open
the rifle and popped out the cartridge within. The ammo-casing was
roughly hewn, and the words, “Baby-Killer 9000” were childishly
scrawled across it in marker. Pete gleefully accepted the trade and
they all returned to the party. The music and dancing were enjoyable
for a bit, until Pete noticed the Varren in the corner, mixing up the
Spore he traded them in a bowl, preparing to imbibe it. He quickly
snuck away. Pete stealthily watch through a window as the drugs
kicked in and the enraged Varren made their way towards the unwary
dancers. The roided out goat-men turned the group into a bloody mosh
pit, swinging their horned arms at the party-goers, sending viscera
flying. Sneaky Pete is an asshole.
Fleeing the scene, Pete was passed by
a militia battle-wagon. This town had seen it's fair share of Varren
rampages, so the garrison commander had a couple of these things
special ordered. A massive armored truck with a flame throwing
mechanism on top rolled up to the warehouse, where only the two
Varren remained, dancing in the fungus erupting from the corpse pile;
the disc jockey gnome left the music playing when he ditched to alert
the militia. The side of the truck fell open, and four heavily
armored men leaped out, towing forward a massive machine gun. The
barrel grew red-hot as they poured fire aspected rounds into the
structure, tearing apart the goat-men. A fifth man pulled himself up
from inside the truck, manning the flame turret up top. The rapidly
growing fungal trees wilted and shrank under the searing flames.
Morning came, and the party woke in
their rooms, ready for another day of work. They turned in the bounty
at the office, and did some shopping, obtaining useful healing drinks
from the general store and eating some imported fried octopus balls
from a smiling Mer in the town square. Cabella asked around a bit
before finding directions for a specialized magic shop in a back
alley. A shriveled old lady answered his ring, pulling up a window
shutter and offering her wares. Cabella pulled out his satchel and
held aloft the gently glowing Anima crystal. She asked him to hand it
over and placed the rugged stone into a bracketed vise. Pulling out a
hand-cranked buffing tool with multiple heads, she set to work
refining the crystal into a usable, safe to handle form. The crone
threw the polishing service in free of charge, since Cabella
purchased a couple of other things, and blew him a kiss as the
centaur cantered away.
A suspicious character caught the
three other's attention, selling dubious healing goods out of his
coat lining at a cheap price. Pete traded some of the Bluevile
potions he scored in his exploits for more legitimate healing
tinctures. Heading to the gunsmith, Pete and friends rented out the
firing range to try out the new ammo cartridge he got from the
Varren. Replacing a normal Aether burst, from the end of his gun
erupted jagged, razor-like Aether, which punctured the target and
left an ugly gash on the dummy target. Pleased with their purchases,
the party sought out another quest.
The next task they took on was a
personal request posted on the board in the administrative office, a
Carracan teen's yakguana had gotten loose and escaped down a
maintenance tunnel, where only authorized personnel could go. With an
outbreak of Varren Spore cases on their hands, the militia couldn't
afford the people to try to capture the thing. These horse-sized
woolly lizards can be dangerous if they feel threatened, but are
typically docile, seeing extensive use as farm animals in the country
of Carraca. The boy who posted the bill stood near the entrance; Pete
immediately started hassling him for information, and extra pay. The
boy had nothing on him, but offered nebulous connections with his
father's merchant caravan, which would prove useful. Satisfied, they
told the guard posted at the tunnel they were there for the posted
bill.
Entering the dark tunnel, the party
crept along, bent low to avoid Aether conducting pipes running along
the ceiling. Occasional bouts of steam kicked out of the pipes.
Spotting the yakguana ahead chewing on a pipe, the foursome came up
with a plan and put it into action. Sneaky Pete sneaked along the
corridor, leaving a trail of ration bread and some of his leftover
octopus balls at intervals. Cabella conjured an illusion of a small
rabbit, teasing the starving creature towards their trail, and
occasionally letting the lizard catch its prey, to keep it
interested. Phylip lay in wait in a side tunnel, rope in hand, and
launched himself at the large beast, deftly hog-tying it without
breaking a sweat. The party dragged the beast out of the tunnels to
the waiting boy, who gleefully jumped on the thing, petting it
vigorously.
