For the Players Companion Guide Please click the following link:
What comes after the downfall of a great evil? What would a group of heroes hope to accomplish following the completion of their noble goal?
Look into rumors of turtle like people to the southwest of course!
Here we find our merry band of adventurers, awestruck at the scene of the final moments that which a symbol of fire and steel was engulfed beneath the eternal grave that is the earth. For all things eventually return to it.
The decision remained: what now? Well, apparently the rumors of a shelled, proud peoples residing on some long forgotten Isle to the southwest of the isle of refuge beckoned forth the adventurers need to voyage.
Luckily for the group, one of the members came prepared with knowledge of the area and maps to boot. The near by hamlet of White Cliffs would seem the rational choice. Recovering seemed like an immediate need, the idea of a warm meal and a comfy bed teased the minds of the battle weary heroes.
As the thick grey fog had lifted with the destruction of the immense tower, the light of day was a welcoming inspiration to hit the trail. There were moments of great achievement and humor punctuated the calmness of the ocean flanked, grasslands of the Peninsula the group traversed. At one point, a talented wing speaker, sending her companions to forage for whatever shineys they could find was rewarded with an odd satchel, containing and even more interesting assortment of what appeared to be dust.
The time had come to work their way south, towards civilization, with the hopes and goals that come with the end of any successful quest: Food, bed, beer and companionship. Sadly, there would be a lacking of the comforts of town for at least a week, as the assortment hiked their way towards the human created hamlet. An old town, White Cliffs had been founded by some of the original human refugees fleeing the Great Goblin War. The Site had originally been difficult to maintain, the rough waters and difficult to traverse white cliffs of significant height had made for a tough and hardened locality. Over time, and through the generations sections of the cliffs had been blasted away, making a graded entry to the naturally protected waters nearby safe to be harnessed by the capitalists that often accompany humans. Eventually a more modern township had formed, along a single main street, approaching from the trails inland the wanderer would walk straight towards the ocean, passing merchants, inns, taverns and smithys before eventually ending at the docks.
Our team of headstrong adventurers made this exact choice, bumbling into town after a few rough days of rustic camping, Gnoll attacks and a random encounter with a bizarre Dragonborn and his take of dread upon the seas. Here, the players would find, for the right price, the comforts they desired. Some decided to hit the taverns and take a load off, others looked into weapons and odd armaments they had looted from the now defunct lighthouse to the north. One member even magically disguised themselves as a gnome in order to find out more about a rumor they had heard in their travels (which backfired of course) resulting in the players making contact with the captain of a vessel named The Wench’s Lips a large, ocean worthy vessel, traveling the Isle of Refuge to provide work and resources to the outlying areas, as well as passage for those looking to traverse. Here, the seafarer of the group made quick friends with the ships quartermaster, and even managed to improve upon her system of logging and tagging materials on board. With such luck the team of adventurers had managed to find a vessel worthy of taking them to their destination of choice: The Isle of Chelonia.
Here lies the legend of a people that once traversed the great sea and made contact with the locals of what is now the Isle of Refuge:
Far to the South West of the Isle of Refuge, surrounded by vast protective reefs rests the tropical / arid isle of Chelonia. Here, little is known of the reclusive inhabitants, where for centuries traveling seafaring types hinted at the existence of giant tortles that defended the isle with reckless, almost animalistic abandon.
Or… So says the excentric captain Edward Chilton the 13th of The Wench’s Lips. This large, LARGE man is eager to join his new compatriots in their endeavor to the long since traveled to Isle of Chelonia, however, as is often occurred in the human world, their is no free rides, and the captain proposes a 200 GP a head fee for the journey and two days of harboring near the isle. Dumbstruck, the high price seems insurmountable to the heroes. Yet, a plan they hatch, with the help of the ships Quartermaster Allie, they have secured lodging on the vessel, and hope to use her to lessen the weight on their coin purses..
We await the thrilling continuation of the Tales of Terrak: Isle of Chelonia expanded journey.
For the Players:
Our next meeting will take off immediately where you left off last Friday. See you then!
Part 1.5 Arrival on the Isle of Chelonia:
Our merry band of unique adventurers have found themselves finally ashore on the grand Isle and reefs of Chelonia. The befuddling sight of war overtakes them as their captain and possibly new ally Sir Edward Chilton the 13th sails them around its proximity in order to find safe refuge. Eventuallu arriving at the port town of Mollusca, where, no one seems to stir in response to their arrival.
Eventually they find themselves on the shore and confronted by two dedicated, and impeccably imbesile guards, whom, due to their incredible abilities (or so they say) are tasked with guarding the abandoned town. The guards tell of war and strife, informing the players of two commanders to whim they could report: April or Stanlee.
The trek to the appointed location of the commanders is of course frought with the chance of danger around nearly ever bend, yet, our band of stalwart heroes galavants across the grass strewned fields in open defiance to the probability of encounter. Eventually confronting what from a distance appeared to be a friendly unit of tortles, only to be besieged by a group of chelos, the cult-like armed occupying force that has captured the main island.
The battle is long and drawn out, and the players find themselves struggling to survive against the battle hardened troops. Yet, in the end they prove themselves the victor, and continue the journey.By weeks end the players have traversed the majority of the dmall island to the north west of the main isle, and have closed in upon the source of the smoke that was once so distant. To see a sight of distraught.
A entrenched war between an overwhelming force (the chelos) and a beleaguered defender has come to this smaller isle. Here, death is palpable in the air, and a myriad of corpses plague the rotten ground, burnt black by the extreme tactics of war. Deep trenches reek of rotting flesh and at points are almoat over flowing with the corpses of differing fallen tortles from both sides. The West side, which is where our heroes advance from, is held from atop a small, buttressing rampart where from the resistance to the chelos has built, rather haphazardly, a defendable point from the East, where the might of the Chelos is camped, thousands of tents, siege equipment, small craft and tens of thousands of troops await orders to advance.
The resistance is not even a partial equivalent. Somehow, against the odds, a group of heroic hundreds has fought off the advancing horde. Holding fast behind their rickety defense works, exhausted, filthy and moral drained, they seem at the brink of defeat.
You have have a choice to make, confront the commanders April and Stanlee, and decides whether or not to join their cause. Or, return to Mollusca and abandon the remaining free tortles of chelonia to their fate at the hands of the Chelos.
They built a wall, we walked right through it…
Aftee meeting with the Tortle resistance to the deadly onslaught of the Chelos, Stanlee, an older witty Tortle, a historian of sorts, revealed the only way to meet with April, the group being outsiders, would be to find and release a tortle of jote, in this case a probable princess. Our group of intrepid heroes was set in motion once again to right the wrongs.
We find our brazen troop of focused adventurers on the open sea, this time in the relative safety and comfort of an armada of canoes, or more commonly known as a Canada.
Easily paddling across the short divide between the ilse to the north west side of the large main isle of Chelonia. Here, quick to cross the sands towards the large wall, which to their surprise was quite easily traveled through. However, it was not all cheers.
Once on the other side, a 200 foot tall wooden tower loomed over the lanscape, the top alight in bright orange light. The cover of darkness and distance giving cover to our heroes, they approached the monolithic structure. The common sight of guards protecting the only entrance, well bathed in light from torches exposing all that dared to approach from easily a hundred feet away. Two lumbering Tortles, armed and weary from the thankless position that is guard duty stood tall besides the only visible entry. Our group, busy squabling over the right course of action, misses an opportunity to take the entry when one guard walk into the darkness to releave himself. Eventually, the stalwart buccaneer working on a hunch stumbled across a hidden trap door, that may have led to the underneath of the tower, where supposedly the Chelos are holding their prisoners.
Shouting with excitement, the Bucaneer proclaimed “I found it!” His pleasure was short lived however, as with his exclamation the guards were alerted to the presence of the infiltrators. They acted in incredible swiftness, one guard turned towards the voice, bellowed “who is out there?” And threw a flask of fire oil, which erupted upon landing and lit a large area aflame, revealing the once darkness hidden heroes. The bucaneer ran, and the guard followed. Two other heroes rushed the other guard defending the door, the rest of the party rushed after the guard bearing down on the bucaneer.
With a silent flury, the tower being alerted to the existence of our heroes fight to take the tower, a rain of arrows decendended from high about, hundreds of deadly sharp shafts rained down upon them. Many were injured, a few escaped unscathed. Eventually both guards were defeated, and access to the tower was gained. Once again failing to advance beneath the tower in a secratove manner our heroes stumbled into a scene of a large caged area holding 3 tortles and an odd human begging for his freedom. The difficulty lied in defeating the heavily armed and even more heavily armored guards in the quarters. Yet, together eventually our group was rewarded with the loot of victory, and all without the loss of any member.
Now the real predicament begins…
Part 2: The Towers of Chelonia
Three prisoners of the Chelos, each one a mix of tortle heritage, are carefully released from their horror of a captivity. Quite visibly malnurished and dehydrated, it takes sone time for them to regain the strength to tell of their plight. Time our group of heroes does not have. With each creak and moan of the catacombs walls, floors and furnishings the party finds itself all to aware of the possibility of some sort of oncoming ambush, or worse. The fight thus far has not been one of ease. However, without taking the time to tend to the needs of the weakened prisoners, they will be of little help and more hindrance.
The first Tortle to regain its strength and constitution is an elder female, her scales and skin plastered with ritualistic engravings and tattoos. Her left eye is as grey as stone, and rarely ever matches the movements of her right eye. She stands just over 5’5″ tall, and walks with a slow, ponderous step, her words come evenly tedious, requiring much patience from any in the group that wishes to ask anything of her. She will introduce herself as Myangla, a shaman and scale speaker of the Tatulous tribe of south east Chelonia, one of the many minority groups eradicated by the Chelos. She was captured almost 4 decades before the arrival of our group, the Chelos thought she could be converted over to their cause, which she has resisted to this day.
The second Tortle is a very young male, whom from a distance appears to be a red slider, but upon closer inspection is shown to be yellow, a rare sight these days, as thevyellow sliders were one of the first groups to stand against the Chelos, and were brutally devastated for it. Yet again, another minority ethnicity devastated by the Chelos and their rise to power. This male is quick to action and very enthusiastic about his rescue, and will quickly go into great detail about his life story if given the opportunity. He reveals bis name to be Abarth’onig, and he was once a well versed traveling bard of the isle of Chelonia, where he would spend days traveling and nights singing for ale and bread. He was captured only a few months back when he was discovered holding fast within an abandoned shack near the tower they are underneath. The Chelos have tortured this poor boy ever since, his face, hands, feet and tail are all covered in scars, or brutally disfigured from his time with his captors. He seems quite eager to get revenge.
The final Tortle refuses to receive help from the heroes in any sort, walking with a heavy limp in his right leg, this very old tortle is massive, towering almost 7′ tall. RUGIO he proclaims loudly is his name, flexing and stretching as he walks from the cage. His skin is heavily wrinkled, and large folds show his age, large sulcats extrude from his limbs, and his shell is pock-marked with the signs of many a hard battle. “Thats right, im a sulcata.” He bellows in response to the looks of question the party has. “No friend of the Xhelos am I!” He goes on to tell how he was once a great champion or Chelonia, that before the rise of the Chelos, brave warriors such as themselves fought to win the support of the royalty and to win the favor of their deity, the creator of Chelonia. He was in the palacial fortress when the Chrlos struck, without notice. A group of Sliders, draped in all red had inflitrated the fortress through its complex series of water allocation tunnelsx and killed the matriarch with a single well thrown javelin. Rugio, caught completely off guard, and being responsible for the matriarchs protection slipped from the throne room through a service tunnel. He holds the heaven burden of regret to this day.
The three prisoners are happy to be free, but each speaks of the ill plans and intent of their captures. That the Chelos will not stop until all of Terrak is free of it parasites, as they heard it said. However, each have their own agenda it seems:
Myangla wishes to travel back to her tribe, especially after hearing of the lackluster performance of the resistance. She is adamant that her kin, if still alive, can be a turning factor in the tide if the war. She hints of knowing a secrative ally that will come to the aid if she is helped. The other tortles laugh when she mentions this, they obviously have grown some distaste for her in the lock up.
Abarth’onig is eager to see the outside world again, and is willing and able to join the group of compatriots in their expeditions. However, he is not willing to fight alongside the likes of the Sulcata which he views as responsible for his peoples demise, in addition he sees the shaman as a crazy old coot whom can’t be trusted and wishes to be free from her company asap.
Rugio is lamenting the loss of his honor, and will do anything to redeem himself. Before his capture he learned of a strange being taking up residence in the old Chelonian fortress at the base of the volcanic center of the Isle. He is furious about his previous jail cell neighbors for not taking up with his cause. He seems to think, with his knowledge of the castle, that he, along with help, can take the fortress and reverse the tide of power.
The choice is the groups, obviously these strange beings are unwilling to work together, but maybe our team of wanderlust, wideyed adventurers can be of sone help, or, they can continue to trek on their own and let the escapees fend for themselves, or… there’s always returning home…
Make your decision wisely.