Session 38 - Holy Ship!
General Summary
The message from Lord Grath Olmec had seemed harmless—a meeting to talk about sponsorships and strategies for the upcoming tournament. He’d sounded almost friendly, promising tips that might help them win it all. So the Ruinlords climbed up to the deck, their guard lowered, never suspecting they were walking into a trap.
But the moment they stepped onto that moonlit deck, something felt wrong. A chill wind blew, and an uneasy silence smothered everything. Olmec greeted them with his usual smooth smile, but now there was a cutting edge to it, a flicker of cruelty in his eyes. “You’ve bothered Lord Raknian for too long,” he snarled, dropping all pretense. “Time to pay the price.”
A heartbeat later, dark shapes moved out of the shadows—three Ebon Triad cultists, each blocking an escape route. Their weapons caught the moonlight, sharp and deadly, and the Ruinlords knew they had nowhere to run. Olmec’s laughter rang out, snapping like a whip, and the fight began.
The Ruinlords tried to defend themselves, but panic twisted inside them: their gear was all below deck, locked away. No shining swords, no magic armor, just their bare fists, and shaken courage. The cultists pressed closer, the symbols on their robes glowing sickly and wrong, throwing monstrous shadows across the planks. It felt like the end.
Then a wolf’s howl sliced through the darkness. Heads jerked up. Above them flew a sleigh pulled by eight wolves the size of horses, their fur shimmering like starlight. The sled was carved from ice and silver, its edges glittering. At the reins stood a tall figure in crimson and silver armor, his beard iced and heavy like snow-laden branches. A greatsword, etched with ancient runes, hung across his broad back.
He raised a gauntleted hand, his voice booming across the deck, strong and steady: “Heroes, do not yield! Darkness tries to snuff out your hope, but your courage burns brighter than any starless night! Stand firm, for evil will not triumph!”
With a wave of his hand, a warm, holy light bathed the Ruinlords. Doubt drained from them like dirty water, and new strength flowed in. Their armor appeared, piece by shining piece. Their weapons blazed into their hands as if they’d never left.
Saint Nicolan guided his wolves in a wide circle overhead. “Your strength is returned, but the fight is yours! Let justice guide your sword and mercy guard your heart!” With that, the sleigh rose into the clouds, leaving a sparkling trail of frost behind. The Ruinlords turned back to their enemies, hearts steady now, ready to make these cultists regret their ambush.
The battle turned fierce and bloody. Olmec chanted awful words, dark power flickering around him. The deck groaned and splintered. Chain-like ghosts erupted from the boards, and waves of rotten energy rolled out. Every step felt like walking through thick, clutching mud. The cultists came on, their eyes filled with madness.
But the tide began to shift. Vaz'non hurled a controlled fireball that blasted Lord Olmec, leaving him broken and burned. Still, there was no relief. Olmec laughed and raised his hands again, calling up something worse than death.
The cultists shuddered and screamed. Their flesh peeled away as squirming worms spilled out, their eyes glowing green. They rose again as nightmares, Spawn of Kyuss, hissing and slithering toward the Ruinlords with endless hunger.
Time stretched thin, fear crawling under everyone’s skin. Olmec, bleeding and desperate, let out one final howl of spite. The floor trembled. A red glow spread from below. “You may kill me,” he hissed, “but you won’t escape this ship.” They realized too late he’d set a bomb in the hold. Its hum grew louder, rattling the boards beneath their feet.
They had to split up. Tike, Dunner, and Alfie stayed on deck, battling the worm-ridden horrors, while the others raced below. Cal rushed into the cargo hold, searching for the source of that red, pulsing light. Among the crates and barrels, a rune-covered sphere throbbed with ugly magic. Cal worked feverishly, sweat dripping, fingers trembling. Everything in him screamed: hurry, hurry, hurry!
Meanwhile, Vaz'non rescued Lady Everwyn from a cultist’s choking grip, blasting him apart with searing magic missiles. The screams mixed with the stench of burning flesh, but still Cal had to focus, ignoring every sound but the bomb’s ticking heart.
Just when it seemed too late, the bomb’s light dimmed, and the humming stopped. Above deck, the last Spawn fell. The evil runes faded. The ship was battered but still afloat. The Ruinlords regrouped, hearts pounding and limbs trembling, but alive.
Captain Mira approached, her face grim and drawn. She said nothing like this should have been possible. Whatever dark power Olmec had tapped into could twist the ship’s own magic. They would dock in Salisgrad by tomorrow evening so artificers could study the damage. She offered those in a hurry a teleport to Tymon to avoid delays.
Dunner went pale at the mention of Salisgrad. He knew what waited for him there: a reckoning with his past. As the ship creaked in the quiet night, everyone felt it—the weight of things left undone, the ghosts waiting in distant ports, and the chill that would stay with them long after dawn.
Rewards Granted
Gear from Lord Olmec:
- +1 sickle
- +2 chain shirt
- Amulet of Natural Armor +2
- Ring of Protection +2
- Wand of Inflict Moderate Wounds [20 charges]
Gear from the Cultists:
- Chainmail (5)
- (Masterwork) Obsidian Scythe (5)
- Potion of Cure Light Wounds (5)
- Bomb Salvage (450 gp)
DING
- Level Eight
Notes
XP
- For the next level, we will try the Fast Advancement Speed for xp leveling.
- Everyone is currently at 34,000 xp
Tike Myson
Cal Volsung
Dunner Greatblade
Vaz'non
Alfie Bud
Report Date
08 Dec 2024
Secondary Location
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