PermaDM Gets To Be Player Storytime

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When we last left off, the party had just met bullywug wizard Long-Toes Johnson, visited what was left of the town of Cloaksdale, and fled from a massive suit of demonic, blood-filled armor. Shortly after, Keane and the local nerdy death mage Lucas had a meeting regarding exactly what to do...and what to do right now is get to that temple as fast as humanly possible and kill that green dragon.


So...


>While Miles and Peterson trudged back through the woods (having gotten themselves completely lost after fleeing the Scary Death Armor) Keane had been in town for several hours, met with Lucas, and returned to his room
>He had to speak with his patron
>Urgently
>Unfurling his canvas mat and setting up his array of black candles, Keane traced the sigil of communion with Tzelzeveld Oathmaker using a stick of deep red chalk
>meditating within, he saw the thousand faces of Tzelzeveld in the misty abyss between worlds
>"Lord Tzelzveld-In-Chains, there's an urgent matter at hand. An entity of great n' terrible power has slain Bosch, and now seems to be targeting the rest of our order...what action do you advise?"

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>"Yes, m'lord. As you command."
d o
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>"Very well."
>Keane breaks the communion, and catches what little sleep he can afford before setting out to slay a dragon

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>As the reeeeing of the bullywugs stirred the swamptown awake, Keane and the returned duo of Miles and Peterson made sure they were provisioned and prepared for what would surely be one grueling battle
>From what they could tell, the dragon was an adolescent Green by the name of Kaalrhot
>He presented himself as a living god to the savage lizardmen of the backswamps, and he demanded blood sacrifice in his name
>And he had so far been tough enough to take all comers
>However we had on our side a high-ranking Tzelzeveldi cultist, an infamous master thief, and the ridiculously powerful faith-powered terminator that was Peterson
>So we were confident in our chances
>Step by squelching step we powered through the swamp, slowly noticing as the trees grew thicker and the ground grew drier
>And the sky grew dimmer...and dimmer...and dimmer
>Until it was the dead of night
>At 1:45 PM
>This was the Ebon Wood, and Keane could taste in the air a magic so vast and ancient that this was no work of any mortal or immortal magus, its just "kind of how it is here" as our DM explained it
>Peterson's halberd emitted a soft glow, sufficient to light the way in this caliginous thicket

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>Although with his low light vision and keen senses, the elven thief was the first to spot a glow ahead
>The forest was getting brighter again, as the path led directly through a clearing infested with bioluminescent fungi
>Keane and co. cautiously stepped through the trees, until Peterson's staff burst open a noxious, gas-filled spore pod, prompting the rest of the fungal foliage to begin emitting the choking smog
>Keane took it full blast and immediately began his mushroom samba, hallucinating vividly as color flashed in his vision
>Peterson and Miles bolted to the edge of the smoke
>Creatures began stalking out of the trees...humanoids crusted with fungal growths, dripping a strange glowing cyan fluid and gurgling
>Keane, filled with a hallucinogenic rage began lashing out with blasts of magic and swinging his cudgel, screaming like a lunatic
>Most of them seemed to connect somewhat, although every so often he'd swing at something that wasn't there, dissipating a puff of spore-laden fog
>The other two proceeded to make relatively short work of the smaller fungaloids, while the massive one had his head beaten in by Keane and his Big Stick
>After ten, fifteen minutes of adrenaline and fresh air, Keane's head began to clear a little and they set back on out through the Ebon Wood
>not much happened for a good few hours, except for an overwhelming feeling of being watched

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>The party comes across what appears to be a massive, felled tree laying directly in the path
>the woods are briefly, utterly silent
>no frogs, birds, or bugs
>just the soft rustling of the wind and the breathing of the party
>everybody knows something's hiding behind the log, it's just a matter of, well, dealing with it
>Keane and Miles are strategizing in hushed whispers and hand signals, before turning to the paladin to give instructions and finding him...not there
>He had rolled a crit on his sneak, with the DM not counting penalties on nat20s
>he was currently standing behind a Lizardman Shaman and two club-wielding warriors
>surprise motherfuckers
>Keane and Miles just see a leathery old gator-man get knocked into the air with a resounding crack as the Peloric Crusader internally screamed "SHOOOOOOOOORYUKEN!" and uppercutted the shaman
>The forest springs to life around us, the crocodilian savages dropping from trees and flinging spears from perches in the canopies as a brawl erupted

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>The ambush was short but fierce
>Peterson 1v3d the Shaman and his escorts while Miles and Keane each took a tree of ambushers for themselves
>Keane knocked some out of the branches with well placed eldritch blasts, while Miles used his comically tiny bow to limited effect
>The rest he just scourged and stabbed in a dervish of flamboyantly sharp death
>Peterson on the other hand was worrying about feeding the bone-and-feather clad lizard mage within an inch of his life
>I seem to recall one of his lackeys getting headbutted to death
>however the Shaman pulled off an impressive trick and spattered some blood from a pouch into a pattern on the ground, casting a pagan hex and transforming himself into a massive, gator-headed snake
>pic related
>as they engage in combat, one of the grunts begins to slowly slip away
>sneaking off, away from the fight
>Miles and Keane polished off the remaining grunts and turned to Peterson, engaged in a duel with this serpentine monstrosity
>He winds up wounding it enough that the spell breaks and the shaman has to return to its anthroreptilian form
>The shaman, growing desperate, let out a cry of animalistic pain and rage as glowing, blood red runes appeared around it, chanting in bestial tongues...

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>Until the deserter grunt from earlier, having snuck up from behind, beat the shaman's brain in with a club
>smashing it over and over
>He appeared to be crying
>On closer inspection this reptilian was lizardlike but was no gatorperson
>It was a Dragonborn, of all things
>A Green Dragonborn
>Said green dragonborn, having finished braining his superior, was panting heavily
>Adjusting his cheap garments and producing a pair of cracked spectacles, he approached Peterson
>In an offensively british accent he began wailing and thanking us
>He introduced himself as Septimus Thundern, parabotanist and sorcerer
>He had come to Greenburrow several months prior to study the mystical fungi we encountered earlier
>"Until those...uncouth SAVAGES ambushed me...fortunately, they were too crude to differentiate me from one of their...kin. So I've been trapped in the service of that monster Kaalrhot for months now!"
>We all hated him pretty much instantly
>He was whiny and nobby, etc.
>However, he knew the fastest way to the ruins of Kal-Yar, an ancient temple where the dragon made his lair

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>Miles looted all of em'
>He only really kept the massive and flamboyant headdress that the Shaman wore, as well as a ragged and crude wand made of warped swampwood and decorated with miniature runes and fetishes
>Keane and Septimus puzzled with the thing before determining that they had absolutely no idea /what/ it would do
>They just knew that whatever it was, it wasn't reusable...pull the string and watch it fly
>Miles' half-elf lineage would probably provide the bare minimum of a magic "spark" to set it off
>Could kill us
>Could save us
>Miles pocketed it until he needed it
>And oh did it come in some fuckin' handy later let me tell ya
>And so we slowly made our way ever deeper into the Ebon Wood
>The constant night was beginning to wear on the group and so we made camp and asked Septimus about the dragon and his experiences

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>Septimus informed us that Kaalrhot is, fundamentally a very deluded and proud creature
>An adolescent dragon, essentially the dragon equivalent of a punk-ass high schooler that blundered its way into an army
>His appetite for sacrifice is more about personal sociopathy and grandeur than channeling magic power
>He assumed that he was simply never detected due to not being around the dragon often and doing everything in his power to avoid the shaman and repress his magic in the crude mage's presence
>Kaalrhot's massive ego and overestimation of his abilities/intelligence could prove to be his downfall if we could coax him into combat
>All we needed to worry about were the savages in the camp
>When grilled about the prisoners, Septimus actually had a great deal to say
>He knows the mayor's daughter is yet to be sacrificed last he checked
>The Ferryman is old and unwell in the prison
>And the third prisoner, an imperial naval officer, has been there for a rather short period and may prove to be useful if we could spring him
>He knew all of this because he surreptitiously inserted himself as the jailer of the tribe

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>Septimus’s plan was a classic “bring us in as prisoners” plot, but he was far from a trusted member of the dragon’s legions and we would be detected very quickly
>So instead we began to plan a strike mission
>The creatures lived in wood, mud, and thatch huts, most sleeping in a communal longhouse
>The rest of the village was built out of what remained of the ancient ruin of Kal-Yar
>There were large fire pits at the town’s center
>So the only logical course of action would be to wait until the majority of the tribe was gathered in the longhouse, such as during a meal, and burn them alive within
>Keane grew very cold and very quiet during this section of the discussion
>If the dragon could be challenged without the threat of his devoted cult then we would stand a chance but we had to go about it very quickly and silently
>Barricade the doors of the longhouse, soak the edges in oil, and just torch the whole fucking place
>So that’s what we did

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>It didn’t take very long to actually get within the compound, Lucas’s lens from before was key in evading patrols
>Once we were there, there wasn’t anybody actually out and about in the ruins/village
>A few cooking fires unmanned outside
>The longhouse Septimus described had a small plume of smoke coming from the top, so we can assume they were within, sleeping or eating
>TopSneak: Engaged
>With Peterson’s assistance, Miles barricaded the only exit to the wood and thatch structure while Keane, muttering, soaked the base of the hut with some of the oil from his pack
>And we let that motherfucker burn
>The screaming lizardmen that escaped from the flames were cut down by arrows, eldritch blasts, and Peterson
>It was some wounded knee shit
>Essentially genocided an entire tribe, baby-eating savages as they were
>Miles looked uncomfortable, but Keane didn’t care, Septimus looked a little too pleased by the screaming of his captors and Peterson was relishing in the butchery in that charming “psychotic zealot” sort of way

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>The Dragon didn’t come barrelling out of the temple, Lizardman reinforcements didn’t show up to ambush us, it was just 4 guys, a pile of corpses, and a burning longhouse
>We picked through the rest of the camp, not finding much of interest until we got to the stone jailhouse that had been repurposed from the ancient ruins
>Miles silently cracked the door open, and plunged his dagger right through the top of the sleeping guard’s skull
>Within, cages of bone and timber had been erected...and the figures in them looked haggard and frightened
>A young girl in a muddy white dress, a toothless old man in sailor’s clothes, and a handsome blond man in a leather coat that absolutely radiated “suave”
>They were surprised to see us, but recognized Septimus and greeted him by name
>Their names were respectively Alice Stillshine (the mayor’s daughter), Ol’ Jim (the ferryman), and Darren Gildhart
>Darren was the odd NPC out, but he informed us he was an officer of the Imperial Navy of Arcadia, particularly the Aerial Division
>He was the captain of a Skyship but while investigating the Greenburrow incidents, his smaller investigative vessel had been knocked from the sky by Kaalrhot, and the crew had been eaten
>He was calm and professional throughout the whole thing
>Miles had a bad case of the gay and immediately began Wallace Wells-ing this dude as we set them free
>Darren had his pistols returned to him, and Ol’ Jim/Alice were instructed to stay in the defensible jailhouse and keep to cover, but the old man was entrusted to try and get the girl home in the event we did not return

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>All that was left was to go within and face off with the Dragon himself
>Keane was ready to get the hell out of here but he had a contract to fulfill and the Sons of Tzelzeveld are nothing if not determined to keep their end of bargains
>Miles’ shekel sense was buzzing like crazy...that Dragon had a hoard and he knew it
>Peterson was in killbot mode, and he wanted to see exactly how tough a dragon really was...also the wyrm had killed innocents/was preventing him from taking Miles to justice
>Septimus was ready to pay the dragon back for the grief he had caused him, Darren too
>So we stepped through the doors of the Ziggurat, ready to end this bullshit
>And found ourselves facing a wall of thick, green smoke
>From beyond the foggy wall, we heard a great, deep voice...it had the low crackling growl of an alligator laced into the words
>”FOOLISH APES. TELL ME WHY YOU HAVE COME HERE, BRINGING YOUR STINK INTO MY DOMAIN.”
>”Well that’s simple, son. We’re here to kill ya.”
>”YOU ARE NOT THE FIRST. YOU WILL NOT BE THE LAST. I AM KAALRHOT, LORD OF THE EBON WOOD AND GOD OF DEATH. YOU WILL FALL WITH THE REST.”

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>“Then prove it, boy. Face us yourself, and raze us from this very mortal plane...UNLESS. YOU. CAN’T.”
>The Dragon was quiet in the face of Keane’s bold proclamation
>Until we heard a roar that was designed by nature to inspire sheer, mortal terror
>And a massive, leathery dragon with a gharial’s head burst into the chamber, poisonous smog pouring from his lips
>The hazy wall dropped as the party and Kaalrhot rushed towards one another, drawing their weapons and screaming for blood
>Keane casted foul hexes on the monster, widening the dragon’s wounds and scouring its flesh with the eldritch lash of Tzelzeveld
>Peterson closely skirmished with Kaalrhot, dodging snapping bites and streams of poisonous fog as he slashed the dragon with his halberd and sunblade
>The NPCs provided cover fire and Betus, not exactly keen on a TPK (at least with new players at the table), added them to the random targets of Kaalrhot’s wrath
>So Septimus took the brunt of a gas attack
>Keane was swept into a wall by one of the dragon’s massive claws and though his debilitating curse was doing damage, Kaalrhot’s sheer girth and power was beginning to make things look impossible (for the characters anyways)
>Miles, who had been hanging back for the most part and dealing scratch damage with his whip and arrows knew that it was now or never and produced the cursed swampwand he’d managed to jew off of the shaman’s corpse

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>Aiming at Kaalrhot while Gildhart peppered him with bullets from his revolvers, Miles closed his eyes and attempted to set off the wand
>It was a one-and-done Wand of Wonder, and we managed to roll the “inside out” effect
>So Keane and Septimus, the magically inclined comabtants present, heard a mystical whisper in the tounge of the ancient Flesh Mages
>”Prolapse.”
>A beam spurted from the end of the wand and connected squarely with Kaalrhots chest...and the creature slowly, agonizingly began to turn inside out
>He screamed and thrashed and wept as his inside became his outside, his haughtiness broken by the fact that we had managed to curse him to turn inside out
>The skinless, entrail-draped abomination that resulted just laid on the temple floor, twitching in incomprehensible agony and whimpering with lungs that spasmed in plain sight
>Keane removed his pistol from his bible and gave the monster Pelor’s Peace

>”Well that was fun”
>Miles was ecstatic about the fact he had just turned a dragon inside out and proceeded to jump, scrooge mcduck-like into the hoard
>We picked through the meager treasure pile Kaalrhot had put together
>Found some half-decent gear
>An immovable rod, with which I have every intention of annihilating Betus’s campaign
>A Staff of the Python, which Keane has taken as his own (I named him Nahash)
>A bag of holding
>Gold aplenty
>Basically just ezpz first-dungeon loot for a level 3 team

And that, for now is basically it. This is more for recordmaking purposes on my part than anything else, but I like sharing because sometimes people like it.

Yo this is pretty cool