the original campaign-
The arm missed him.
The tall fighter untangled his sword and rolled left while dodging the out-thrust arm. He'd ducked the net thrown at him by the automaton and fouled its attempt to throttle him. His roll had put him to the right of the large table and away from this adversary, but in front of yet another.
Lord Robilar brought his sword up in a great sweeping arc to deflect the next robot's lunge. The effect of the impact was startling: the robot's green torso was cloven and its various insides--bolts, gears, wires and an odd green-glowing gem-- emptied from the gash. Its knees buckled and it fell to the floor, there to spasm and emit sparks and smoke.
Robilar wasted no time. He leapt across the room and then turned to look. He smiled. The other robot had become entangled in the net. This would be too easy, he thought. He then looked at the far wall and up its length: it rose to a domed ceiling of beveled mirrors that reflected the image of the room--a room replete with furniture, weapons, and a tapestry of three green dragons. His sqaurish face, pierced with two blue eyes and a sweat-streaked mane of blonde hair, stared back at him. He smiled hugely; and raising his sword he defiantly shook it at the mirrored ceiling.
Just then a sliding door behind him opened and five more robots piled in in a mad rush. They separated and made for him. The netted robot had untangled itself and was now holding a chair.
Robilar cursed as he vaulted to the large oak table and then jumped from it to a sofa against the far wall. There he grabbed hold of the dragon tapestry and started to climb. He'd reached the base of a mirrored section just as the first robot reached for his feet. The others started to pull at the tapestry. Robilar kicked his first assailant and leveled it. But he felt the tapestry starting to pull apart under his weight. Positioning himself he quickly swung his sword upward; and the leather girdle about his large frame seemed to stretch with the effort. Robilar bellowed as the mirror section broke, which sent silvery pieces everywhere but revealed a walkway behind it. Just then there was a rending noise. He grabbed the overhead railing with his free hand and pulled himself up and onto the walkway as the tapestry was jerked down behind him.
Robilar regained his footing after slipping on some mirror fragments. He was on a walkway circling the room below; and much to his consternation he saw a man approaching him from the left. He spun to confront him, and thrusting his blade outward he motioned to him--almost accusingly. But the rotund man only hobbled closer. And as he drew alongside Robilar, he laughed. His green eyes blinked as he turned to look behind him. There was an echoing laugh from down the walkway. Robilar looked. Standing before a doorway was a figure in gray robes leaning upon a staff of ironwood.
"You have a guest, Lord Robilar," spoke the rotund wizard as he idly scratched his balding pate.
Robilar stared at him. "Why wasn't I informed, Otto?"
The wizard shrugged and looked at one of the many rings adorning his pudgy fingers and then began polishing it with a section of his vermilion robe. His green eyes sparkled like those of a sprite making merry and his thin lips hardly seemed to move as he said, "Mordenkainen thought it best that you learn of his visit at the proper time."
Robilar smiled as Mordenkainen the Mage walked up to him and bowed courteously. His old friend had not changed much since their last meeting: Brown eyes a little more worn wise from experience and always used for effect by way of his sidelong look; a face slightly withered by time but still engendered with spirit; and black hair streaked with silverish-gray. Mordenkainen leaned upon his staff and eyed him with a mirthful yet curious look. Yes, he was robed in simple gray, thought Robilar, but that is where his friend's simplicity surely ended.
"So you thought to make me dance? A likely duet, you two." Robilar looked over his shoulder at the automatons below. One had almost gained the railing of the balcony. It clawed for a hold.
"A bit too effective today, Otto." He looked at Mordenkainen and then gave the robot a swift boot. It fell to the floor of the practice room with a great crash. "One would think that I was being tested to battle the Gods themselves."
"Ah, but you were, dear Robilar," offered Mordenkainen.
Robilar stared first at Otto, who was now fingering his right ear as if to dislodge something, then back at Mordenkainen. He smiled awkwardly as the two wizards chuckled.
"You say that this city--City of the Gods--is beyond Blackmoor then." Robilar had directed his question to a tired Mordenkainen, who lay curled up by their camp fire. The evening air was brisk, as was the fighter in his questioning. Mordenkainen sat up and looked at him.
"Dear Robilar. Friend. You will not unravel anymore about what I've told you tonight. It's been a long journey so far. There are many leagues before us 'til we see that fabled city. Rest!"
"But what if it is true? What the tales speak of, Mordenkainen. I am no coward mind you. But gods, Mordenkainen, that is no jesting matter. Or one for the ignorant. What if there are gods there?
"And what of the dream--the one you told me about? A city of gold and silver, Mordenkainen. Surely no one but the gods themselves could have built it."
Mordenkainen was fully awake now and staring at the fighter like a child mesmerized by some fairy tale. He then looked past him and up at the dark sky. As he did, a shooting star fell eastwards. Both were silent for a time after this. Then without a word between them they made to sleep, though neither did.
The next day they reached the village of Blackmoor.
"There's a store over there," Robilar pointed out, as they walked their horses into the village square.
Mordenkainen nodded. He had been quiet for the entire ride here, thought Robilar. He probably needed to cast a spell or something, he thought.
They entered the store as Mordenkainen looked north towards Castle Blackmoor, another enigma of the North which for now would be left unplumbed by them.
Robilar was brisk with his dealing with the local merchant. Mordenkainen noted his friends tact when dealing with such transactions.
"Ah, of course we know good Baron Fant," spoke Robilar as he waved his gauntleted hand above the objects he desired to purchase. It had taken the storekeeper much time in ordering the objects that Robilar had requested: rope, caltrops, two bulls-eye lanterns, rations, water skins, oats, and wine.
"Of course," rejoined the beleaguered merchant. "Everyone knows Fant. And even he pays the prices that I set in my store. I do good business with adventurers such as yourself. Many would try to bargain away my profits while gaining their own from the Castle. Is that fair to me, Lord?"
Robilar tried his last gambit. "But you misunderstand. We are not borne for the castle but follow the roads that lead to the Gods."
At this mention the man started, paling like a drunk who had been made aware that he was dry and the next inn was eighty leagues distant. He quickly made a simple sign of the druids to ward spirits and cautiously asked, "The city, you do mean?"
Robilar nodded.
"Then you will need many such provisions and beyond that more than I can offer. And perhaps I can offer something in return.
Mordenkainen spoke. "And what could that be?"
The merchant swallowed, eyeing the wizard. "Well, no insult intended, Master. But you could store some of your valuables here, for a small fee of course. I am willing to relay these to any part of the land you so desire. And with any last messages you might have."
Robilar stared; and Mordenkainen blinked, incredulous.
"What's the meaning, merchant?" asked a greatly perturbed Robilar, who saw this subterfuge as but a way of stifling his bargaining advantage.
"Well," he gulped. "None return from that forlorn place, it is said. So it is best that they have their affairs in order before going there, that is all."
Robilar began to laugh but thought better for Mordenkainen's grim look. "How much merchant?" he said, motioning to the goods.
The man held high his hand. "They are my blessing to you and your friend. Take them, for your needs will be greater than mine come a fortnight from now."
With their provisions in hand Mordenkainen and Robilar walked back to their horses. They afforded a few scoffing smiles between each other as they road away from the village but soon both fell into an unwelcome silence, which made their trip across the nearby plains and towards the City that much more ominous.
Continue to Part 2
Robilar Remembers: Journey to the City of the Gods (I)
by Robert J. Kuntz *I. TWO HEROES
The arm missed him.
The tall fighter untangled his sword and rolled left while dodging the out-thrust arm. He'd ducked the net thrown at him by the automaton and fouled its attempt to throttle him. His roll had put him to the right of the large table and away from this adversary, but in front of yet another.
Lord Robilar brought his sword up in a great sweeping arc to deflect the next robot's lunge. The effect of the impact was startling: the robot's green torso was cloven and its various insides--bolts, gears, wires and an odd green-glowing gem-- emptied from the gash. Its knees buckled and it fell to the floor, there to spasm and emit sparks and smoke.
Robilar wasted no time. He leapt across the room and then turned to look. He smiled. The other robot had become entangled in the net. This would be too easy, he thought. He then looked at the far wall and up its length: it rose to a domed ceiling of beveled mirrors that reflected the image of the room--a room replete with furniture, weapons, and a tapestry of three green dragons. His sqaurish face, pierced with two blue eyes and a sweat-streaked mane of blonde hair, stared back at him. He smiled hugely; and raising his sword he defiantly shook it at the mirrored ceiling.
Just then a sliding door behind him opened and five more robots piled in in a mad rush. They separated and made for him. The netted robot had untangled itself and was now holding a chair.
Robilar cursed as he vaulted to the large oak table and then jumped from it to a sofa against the far wall. There he grabbed hold of the dragon tapestry and started to climb. He'd reached the base of a mirrored section just as the first robot reached for his feet. The others started to pull at the tapestry. Robilar kicked his first assailant and leveled it. But he felt the tapestry starting to pull apart under his weight. Positioning himself he quickly swung his sword upward; and the leather girdle about his large frame seemed to stretch with the effort. Robilar bellowed as the mirror section broke, which sent silvery pieces everywhere but revealed a walkway behind it. Just then there was a rending noise. He grabbed the overhead railing with his free hand and pulled himself up and onto the walkway as the tapestry was jerked down behind him.
Robilar regained his footing after slipping on some mirror fragments. He was on a walkway circling the room below; and much to his consternation he saw a man approaching him from the left. He spun to confront him, and thrusting his blade outward he motioned to him--almost accusingly. But the rotund man only hobbled closer. And as he drew alongside Robilar, he laughed. His green eyes blinked as he turned to look behind him. There was an echoing laugh from down the walkway. Robilar looked. Standing before a doorway was a figure in gray robes leaning upon a staff of ironwood.
"You have a guest, Lord Robilar," spoke the rotund wizard as he idly scratched his balding pate.
Robilar stared at him. "Why wasn't I informed, Otto?"
The wizard shrugged and looked at one of the many rings adorning his pudgy fingers and then began polishing it with a section of his vermilion robe. His green eyes sparkled like those of a sprite making merry and his thin lips hardly seemed to move as he said, "Mordenkainen thought it best that you learn of his visit at the proper time."
Robilar smiled as Mordenkainen the Mage walked up to him and bowed courteously. His old friend had not changed much since their last meeting: Brown eyes a little more worn wise from experience and always used for effect by way of his sidelong look; a face slightly withered by time but still engendered with spirit; and black hair streaked with silverish-gray. Mordenkainen leaned upon his staff and eyed him with a mirthful yet curious look. Yes, he was robed in simple gray, thought Robilar, but that is where his friend's simplicity surely ended.
"So you thought to make me dance? A likely duet, you two." Robilar looked over his shoulder at the automatons below. One had almost gained the railing of the balcony. It clawed for a hold.
"A bit too effective today, Otto." He looked at Mordenkainen and then gave the robot a swift boot. It fell to the floor of the practice room with a great crash. "One would think that I was being tested to battle the Gods themselves."
"Ah, but you were, dear Robilar," offered Mordenkainen.
Robilar stared first at Otto, who was now fingering his right ear as if to dislodge something, then back at Mordenkainen. He smiled awkwardly as the two wizards chuckled.
"You say that this city--City of the Gods--is beyond Blackmoor then." Robilar had directed his question to a tired Mordenkainen, who lay curled up by their camp fire. The evening air was brisk, as was the fighter in his questioning. Mordenkainen sat up and looked at him.
"Dear Robilar. Friend. You will not unravel anymore about what I've told you tonight. It's been a long journey so far. There are many leagues before us 'til we see that fabled city. Rest!"
"But what if it is true? What the tales speak of, Mordenkainen. I am no coward mind you. But gods, Mordenkainen, that is no jesting matter. Or one for the ignorant. What if there are gods there?
"And what of the dream--the one you told me about? A city of gold and silver, Mordenkainen. Surely no one but the gods themselves could have built it."
Mordenkainen was fully awake now and staring at the fighter like a child mesmerized by some fairy tale. He then looked past him and up at the dark sky. As he did, a shooting star fell eastwards. Both were silent for a time after this. Then without a word between them they made to sleep, though neither did.
The next day they reached the village of Blackmoor.
"There's a store over there," Robilar pointed out, as they walked their horses into the village square.
Mordenkainen nodded. He had been quiet for the entire ride here, thought Robilar. He probably needed to cast a spell or something, he thought.
They entered the store as Mordenkainen looked north towards Castle Blackmoor, another enigma of the North which for now would be left unplumbed by them.
Robilar was brisk with his dealing with the local merchant. Mordenkainen noted his friends tact when dealing with such transactions.
"Ah, of course we know good Baron Fant," spoke Robilar as he waved his gauntleted hand above the objects he desired to purchase. It had taken the storekeeper much time in ordering the objects that Robilar had requested: rope, caltrops, two bulls-eye lanterns, rations, water skins, oats, and wine.
"Of course," rejoined the beleaguered merchant. "Everyone knows Fant. And even he pays the prices that I set in my store. I do good business with adventurers such as yourself. Many would try to bargain away my profits while gaining their own from the Castle. Is that fair to me, Lord?"
Robilar tried his last gambit. "But you misunderstand. We are not borne for the castle but follow the roads that lead to the Gods."
At this mention the man started, paling like a drunk who had been made aware that he was dry and the next inn was eighty leagues distant. He quickly made a simple sign of the druids to ward spirits and cautiously asked, "The city, you do mean?"
Robilar nodded.
"Then you will need many such provisions and beyond that more than I can offer. And perhaps I can offer something in return.
Mordenkainen spoke. "And what could that be?"
The merchant swallowed, eyeing the wizard. "Well, no insult intended, Master. But you could store some of your valuables here, for a small fee of course. I am willing to relay these to any part of the land you so desire. And with any last messages you might have."
Robilar stared; and Mordenkainen blinked, incredulous.
"What's the meaning, merchant?" asked a greatly perturbed Robilar, who saw this subterfuge as but a way of stifling his bargaining advantage.
"Well," he gulped. "None return from that forlorn place, it is said. So it is best that they have their affairs in order before going there, that is all."
Robilar began to laugh but thought better for Mordenkainen's grim look. "How much merchant?" he said, motioning to the goods.
The man held high his hand. "They are my blessing to you and your friend. Take them, for your needs will be greater than mine come a fortnight from now."
With their provisions in hand Mordenkainen and Robilar walked back to their horses. They afforded a few scoffing smiles between each other as they road away from the village but soon both fell into an unwelcome silence, which made their trip across the nearby plains and towards the City that much more ominous.
Continue to Part 2
* Based on a Blackmoor Adventure undertaken by E. Gary Gygax as "Mordenkainen" and Robert Kuntz as "Robilar", with DM Comments by Blackmoor's Designer, David L. Arneson. Copyright 1997, Robert J. Kuntz, All Rights Reserved. Those tradenames used herein are TM their respective owners. No infringement is intended by their use.
This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 2.5 License.
© 2007 LoreWeaver