Monstrous Compendium Vol. 1: Spelljammer Creatures
Frozen Sick
D&D Beyond Basic Rules
Basic Rules (2014)
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"Inquiring minds want to know, Governor!" she nods, then prepares to follow Draylin on their next task.
Author of Kid Comet and the Sixth Grade Shadow and other Middle Grade Novels
Tam smiles, happy for the kudos from Draylin.
She feels like a third wheel, but unless given a specific task, she makes notes about the situation, peoples' reactions, etc. She tries to remember that a good reporter acts as an observer not as a participant.
Author of Kid Comet and the Sixth Grade Shadow and other Middle Grade Novels
It perplexes Amadeus, if only a moment, for why this fellow Pilligree would be so skittish. This town, though impressive, is still of a smaller squalor. Surely raider bands and attackers are nigh beyond the norm. Yet even as his mind wanders, he comes to a shorter decision - twas not his concern. Perhaps this fellow was just as much a stranger about Greenest as he. Always a possibility!
So, with little to keep his attentions on the matter, the little attorney gently folds the contract and ties it shut amongst the various paraphernalia in his pocket, then clicks his heels together and gives the rattled clerk another deep bow. "I daresay not, good ser. You have been quite helpful, in fact!" He pulls two gold pieces from one of his many pockets and places it in the halfling's clammy hands. "Take this as a token, my good man, and please see to it that the local commerce is quite prepared." He gives the flighty little man a knowing smile. "The economy will surely bounce back the more prepared it is for things to come, and your actions hedge on it."
...with that, Lord Amadeus P Laxer Esq, first to his name, turns on his heel and strides resolutely out of the office. The moment his visage is well and truly beyond the prying eyes of both the quirky yet panicked halfling as well as the hustle and bustle of the marketplace, Amadeus' demeanor changes subtly. He slumps and untidies his clothes, pulling his swiped long coat over the ornate design of his fanciful vestments. A soft mumble here and there adds dust and trail soil to the mix, adding an air of weathering to his appearance.
At the corner of the next street, the young gnome turns, and heads for the seedier part of town. His business is not concluded. There is one more thing he must do, one more person to meet. And to do it, he must go to the dregs of this community, a squalid tavern called The Canned Cat, to meet his informant. Lovely. Simply lovely.
The Keep
Around fifty guards have gathered on the ground floor of the keep, listening to the Castellan's orders. Escobert the Red is in the middle of barking an order when he stops, his eyes locking onto Montar. Seeing the masterfully crafted Dwarven armour and hearing the familiar, low rumble of the Dwarvish tongue, the tension in the Castellan's shoulders visibly drops.
"Runeseeker," Escobert grunts back in Dwarvish, a rare, grim spark of approval in his eyes. "I'll take yer aid and be glad for it. We've a lot of townsfolk to usher inside before the sun sets and not enough folk who can wield a weapon should that be not enough."
He then looks at Draylin and Tam with some regret. "I'm sorry for doubting ye earlier. Yer help’ll be much appreciated. If you can head out with the guards and tell people to come to the keep, that will be a massive help to us. There ain’t nearly enough of us to go through the whole town. But it is a delicate matter. We don't want to raise too much panic and a stampede, but I want as many people inside the keep as possible." He glances down at Tam’s notebook, obviously confused, but then shrugs and turns to face the crowd of guards and the four adventurers.
"The Governor is already making arrangements for accommodating the townsfolk here." One of the guards clears his throat. "We’ve just had a few folk come to seek shelter."
Escobert nods grimly. "Good. We will ring the bells in half an hour. That should give you some time to talk to people. I will also need aid at the main gate. Help my guards filter the crowd. If they’re carrying too much baggage, make ‘em drop it. The keep is large but it’s market day and I suspect there are more than five hundred people walking the streets of town today."
The keep is already transforming into a fortress. In the larger rooms, the usual furniture is being cleared away to make space for rows of makeshift straw beds. The keep’s blacksmith is working at a frantic pace, sharpening every spear and sword in the armoury. Nearby, a cleric moves through the halls, laying out bandages and praying over crates of supplies.
Thistlewick
High on the hill, Thistlewick's senses tune in with nature. His perception doesn’t catch the vibration of marching boots yet, but there is an odd chill in the air, one that doesn't seem to come from the clouded sky. A gust of wind blows and the branches of the ancient oak shake as if they shiver in anticipation, a silent warning from the Earth Mother that the druid alone can read.
Down at the main gate, the trickle has begun. He sees Adam leading three horses, all heavily loaded with the sacks of his trade, his face still pale with shock. In a few minutes, more people follow, some faces he can recognise from the market. The town has begun to move, a slow-motion migration of people clutching their livelihoods, unaware that the clock is ticking down to the first bell.
The Canned Cat
Meanwhile, Amadeus has transformed from the high-society Esquire into someone more fitting for the narrow, sunless alley where the air smells of bad ale and old grease. He reaches The Canned Cat, a squalid hole of a tavern that every town, even one as small as Greenest, keeps tucked away for those who wish to be forgotten.
Inside, the air is thick with cheap tobacco and the sour smell of spilled drink and unwashed bodies. The corner table he’s been instructed to seek is already occupied. A figure shrouded in a tattered cloak looks up as the sorcerer approaches, the man’s eyes sharp and calculating despite his dishevelled appearance.
"Ah, look what the cat finally dragged in. You’re late," the man wheezes, tapping an almost-empty tankard of ale suggestively against the scarred wood. "My throat's gone all dry while I've been waiting. And my purse oh so too. Information on the lost bird was difficult to obtain, I'll have you know that. I hope you've brought enough gold to make the risk worth my while."
DM: Hoard of the Dragon Queen Adventure, Dragons of Stormwreck Isle and even more dragons
Montar replies, still in Dwarven, "I'll go to the main gate. I have not the experience that my new comrades have with those outside the clans, and might be less convincing. Also, I want to be in front when those raiders come. I hope this is not the last we meet." His meaning hopefully clear, he rakes off for the main gate. To Draylin and Tam he adds, as a goodbye, "Good luck ta ye. I think we'll all need it."
Draylin
The monk nods his head solemnly. Let's stick together. We can check different buildings, if things go bad we move with haste to the gate to stand with Montar, he said to Tam. He waits to hear Tam's thoughts, then heads out if they are in agreement.
The guards and word of mouth will get word to most. Let's go to help those oft forgotten. Draylin suggests going to the less affluent areas, looking specifically for families and children. They would not end up the forgotten fodder while folk of means found shelter.
For I am Death and I won't break. I got a life I've got to take. When will it end, this sufferin' of late? It was nice to know you. __The Pretty Reckless
Tam follows along, offering help where she can.
Author of Kid Comet and the Sixth Grade Shadow and other Middle Grade Novels
The gnome slumps into a seat across from this gruff braggart, all aswagger despite an atmosphere he'd otherwise scoff at. There are more important things, more dire straits, to address than a layer of grime on the tankards and a scent of piss in the air. Besides, though it's been some time, the scent of waste, both literal and figurative, are not new to him. His voice whistles and and squeaks, but there is no pomp or richness in his tone. "Alas, the roads are not as safe anymore as they may have been, once." He eyes the rapidly dwindling ale parsing his informant's lips and draws a deep sigh. Waving the nearest bar wench over, he wastes no time - in rather unceremonious a fashion - to clatter two gold pieces upon the uneven wooden counter. "I care not what this man elected to order, miss, but I would presume this is enough to give him as many a refill as he wishes of something of far higher quality."
"Now then..." the young sorcerer pulls a slightly crimped slip of paper from his breast pocket. He places it between himself and the other man, a determined frown upon his otherwise polished complexion. "...I hired you, good... ser, to seek out a specific individual. Your missive suggested progress has been made. I have taken agency to travel here in person - under professional pretense and great personal risk - to receive this report myself. So, tell me--" the gnome pulls a small purse of gold from his person. "--where is my sister?"
Draylin
The monk and dragon reporter moved like salmon swimming upstream. Looks of panic, looks of anger, looks of shock, and looks of confusion float by like smoke in the wind. They move with purpose, weaving through the crowd heading towards the low rent district. Stepping with grim determination, Draylin begins knocking on doors, warning to make haste, and with bare minimum, to the keep.
For I am Death and I won't break. I got a life I've got to take. When will it end, this sufferin' of late? It was nice to know you. __The Pretty Reckless
Thistlewick takes a deep breath and sighs as he tore his eyes away from the chaos down the hill. Moving with purpose, he entered back into the keep to see about getting a little medical attention and filling up his waterskin before heading down to join his companions at the main gate.
Montar
Montar heads to the main gate. At first, the trickle of townsfolk is slow; those who arrive are pale with worry. As time passes, the flow turns into a stream. Some are frantic, but others grumble as they walk, clearly unconvinced the threat is real.
Eventually, Olav appears at the gate, hauling a large chest alongside a half-elf worker. "Ah, Montar," Olav grunts, setting the chest down with a heavy thud. He throws open the lid and begins rummaging through a stash of perishables and valuables. By the time he finds what he's looking for – a small, unlabelled bottle – a restless queue has formed behind him.
He hands the vial to Montar. "A few years ago, I was working on a recipe – a brew to restore a man's energy rather than leave him sluggish. I never quite finished it, but this is as close as I got. Take it. I hope it still tastes like something besides swamp water." With a loud crack, he slams the chest shut, ignoring the disgruntled shouts from the townspeople waiting behind him, and heaves the trunk back up.
Add Olav’s Experimental Brew to your inventory: As an action, you can drink this tonic. You gain 1d4+2 temporary hit points
Draylin and Tam
Draylin and Tam make their way into the western district, joined by two guards named Michal and Jerry. Both men have families nearby they plan to fetch once their duty is done, and they offer the adventurers sincere thanks for the warning.
Most residents they encounter are apprehensive, but the sight of the guards eventually spurs them toward the keep. However, at the end of a narrow lane, the two adventurers find a dilapidated shack. From inside comes the soft, rhythmic whir of a spinning wheel, oblivious to the growing panic outside.
Draylin knocks on the thin door, and after a moment, the rusted lock clicks. A frail, elderly woman opens it, clutching a spindle in a trembling hand. She squints at them with cloudy eyes. "What? Who is it?" she asks, her voice shrill and piercing. "I’ve no money for you! Be off!" She stares at them, half-deaf and stubborn, as the shadows in the street begin to stretch.
Thistlewick
Inside the keep's inner ward, Thistlewick finds Brother Nicodemus. The cleric's sleeves are rolled up, his hands stained green from herbal poultices. He looks up from a crate of bandages and salves, his eyes lingering on the druid's visible wounds from the earlier skirmish.
"Ah, one of the Governor's guests," Nicodemus says, standing with a tired groan. He approaches with a basin of infused water. "I presumed you might find your way to me eventually." He presses a cool, damp cloth soaked in aromatic oils against Thistlewick's bruises and murmurs a prayer to Chauntea. A surge of warmth washes over Thistlewick, and the dull ache in his side vanishes as the skin mends.
"There," the cleric says, wiping his hands. "The Earth Mother provides. If you have need of me again, I shall be here, although with the way the smith is hammering away, I pray it won't be necessary."
Thislewick is now at full HP again.
Amadeus
In the dim, sour air of the tavern, the bar wench returns with a large jug of ale and a second glass. She pours one tankard for Amadeus and another for the informant before hurrying away. The man takes a slow, agonizingly long chug, smacking his lips as if to test Amadeus's patience. Finally, he clicks his tongue and leans forward.
"You didn't tell me your sister goes by a different name now and she's far from what you described of her. Talia, or something like it. Anyway, it took quite a bit of digging, but I have it in good faith that she's recently been seen in Elturel. Supposedly she was there to meet a contact in a tavern called The Dragon's Tail. I’ll have you know, she's gotten mixed up with some dangerous, wealthy people. And if you ask me, dangerous wealthy people mix up with other dangerous wealthy people."
The informant leans back, draining his tankard, letting the implication hit Amadeus. His eyes dart towards the tavern door. "If you want to know where she went from there, you'll have to ask the barkeep or whoever she was rubbing elbows with. But be careful. Folks that meet there… let's say the crowd here in Greenest is much more benevolent."
He shifts in his seat, pulling his cloak tight. "If you're going, go. The air feels heavy tonight. Now pay up. I have done my job and that’s all I can say."
DM: Hoard of the Dragon Queen Adventure, Dragons of Stormwreck Isle and even more dragons
"Ma'am," Tam says, "We're here to let you know that you've won the Governor's Mark of excellence. Congratulations! All of the winners are being invited to have a free meal at the keep. We're here to escort you, but you must come right away."
She looks to Draylin and the guards to corroborate her ruse, hoping a little white lie can save an old woman's life.
[welp, I rolled a 6+4 for deception, so unless Draylin can assist and give me advantage, that's a 10
For my single d20 roll I got a 17.]
Author of Kid Comet and the Sixth Grade Shadow and other Middle Grade Novels
Draylin
The half elf was just about to spin a tale of an aphgan knitting contest with a grand prize of golden dentures and a fine listenin' horn. He did a quick about face when Tam beat him to the chase.
Why yes indeed, the monk said nice and loud. Your fine work is know all the way up in the keep! No time to lose, your hair looks great! Oh, maybe grab that scarf, windy and all. Hurry, hurry, the guards have other duties to attend when the big winners are in the keep. Draylin nodded and smiled enthusiastically, giving Tam's story support.
***help action for Tam***
For I am Death and I won't break. I got a life I've got to take. When will it end, this sufferin' of late? It was nice to know you. __The Pretty Reckless
[okay, so that means with advantage I got an 11+4=15]
Author of Kid Comet and the Sixth Grade Shadow and other Middle Grade Novels
"Thank you, Olav. I will save this for when it can most aid me to aid others."
By the time the shadows stretch across the valley, Montar estimates with grim satisfaction that roughly three-fourths of Greenest's population has been ushered to safety through the Keep's heavy gates. He watches as a nervous halfling, dressed in a flamboyant three-part suit, hurries in, then the ale-maids stumble in, followed by a guard supporting a frail elderly woman who mutters about winning a prize. Merchants, farmers, and children huddle together, clutching pets or whatever household treasures they could carry, soon followed by Amadeus, who arrives breathless at the threshold.
The bells have been ringing for hours, their frantic rhythm a constant companion to Tam and Draylin. Thanks to their tireless effort and to the dedication and drive of the party as a whole, hundreds of lives have been secured, and the unsuspecting town has been given a chance of survival.
But as the horizon bleeds into a deep, bruised gold, it is Thistlewick who first senses the shift in the world.
Suddenly, everything goes silent. The leaves of the old oak go still above his head. The wind dies. The clouds lock in place. It is as if nature herself is holding her breath in terror.
BOOM.
A thunder rolls across the sky, followed by a sizzling spear of lightning. The air is thick with the smell of ozone. A violent gust of wind sweeps through the courtyard, nearly toppling those still moving towards the entrance of the keep. Then comes the sound – a loud, mournful horn, answered by a bone-shattering roar that vibrates in the marrow of everyone's bones.
A large dark shape suddenly cuts through the clouds, wheeling low over the Keep.
A dragon. A massive, adult blue dragon.
Its sapphire scales glint with lethal beauty as it emerges from the gloom. It sweeps over the town, its throat glowing with a terrifying, inner blue light. A bolt of pure lightning erupts from its maw, striking a house, and the building vanishes in a roar of blue fire. The dragon's massive wings beat once, twice, and it disappears back into the thunderheads just as the first real screams begin and panic ripples through the townsfolk.
High on the parapet, Governor Nighthill watches in horror as at the edges of town, four portals shimmering with dark energy tear open. From their depths, dozens of cultists in black tunics and purple robes emerge, fanning out into the residential streets. Simultaneously, a second wave breaks over the southern ridgeline – raiders on foot and mounted on reptilian draconoids, charging towards the town in a landslide of iron and scales. Their war-horns blare a low, guttural note that answers the dragon's roar, turning the stream to the south into a churning sea of black iron and scales.
"Hurry! Hurry! Get to the keep!" the guards yell as they beckon those still on the streets to get behind the stone walls before the raiders reach the inner part of the town.
The party stands near the entrance, having done everything humanely possible to clear the streets. But there are those caught in the far-flung outskirts or the deep valleys, those who waited too long, lived too far, or simply didn't believe the threat was real… for those people, the horror has begun. Families are trapped in the marketplace and children are hiding under stalls as the first waves of raiders begin to move through the streets.
Smoke begins to rise from multiple points in the town, and through the screams and the clanging bells, you can hear the distinct, rhythmic clatter of boots on cobblestones. The raiders are here.
The Keep’s gates are currently being held open, but the situation is deteriorating fast. From your position at the entrance, you can hear the first clashes of steel and the screams of those being cornered in the nearby alleys.
You have a choice: Stay and help organize the defense of the gate, or venture back into the smoke to find those who didn't make it in time.
DM: Hoard of the Dragon Queen Adventure, Dragons of Stormwreck Isle and even more dragons
Draylin
In the monk's mind, there was no choice to make. The shadows were his ally. The guards most likely had a plan, or at least he hoped they did...
"If more can be spared the horrors that have descended on Greenest, then I must try to aid them. I can cover ground very quickly, should things go bad I plan to run with all haste back to the gate. I do not possess a military mind, my skills are best used down there." A scream echoed our from somewhere near the market; not an I saw a spider scream, but a desperate cry of shock, fear, and pain.
"How much time do you think we have?" he asks the highest ranking guard nearby. When he has an idea of how long he may have he pauses, looking to the group. When each has made their choice he bows formally to his new companions; running into hell with some (maybe), and running away from those who can bolster the keeps final defense.
For I am Death and I won't break. I got a life I've got to take. When will it end, this sufferin' of late? It was nice to know you. __The Pretty Reckless
Tam agreed with Draylin. There was little she could do to help in the keep, and if she could help more people find safety, that was what she would do.
"I'm with you, Draylin. I think my skills are more useful finding more survivors."
Author of Kid Comet and the Sixth Grade Shadow and other Middle Grade Novels