Chapter 3 / Episode 79 – The Slave Lord
Date: Planting 5, 576 CY — Beneath the Temple of Highport
Weather: Subterranean; cold, wet air, thick with mold, rust, and decay. Dim southern drafts carry the scent of something long-dead.
Players Present:
Irving the Reluctant, Paladin of St. Cuthbert (with Harvey the Hare)
TerryOr, Cleric of St. Cuthbert
Dixon the Dwarf
Silversun, Magic-User of Greyhawk
Slash the Bard
Interrogation in the Dark
The episode opened deep beneath the Temple of Highport where the party, still slick with blood from their battle with the slavers’ guard, dragged their remaining captive—a female mercenary—into the torchlight. She played dumb, insisting she had joined the merchants only weeks before and had never been to Highport’s stockade.
Silversun, never subtle, pressed the point by producing a magically vibrating dagger, letting the blade hum inches from her cheek. Her story crumbled, but it became clear she had little true intelligence to offer.
Before the group could decide her fate, the rescued barbarian shoved past them, seized her by the hair, and with a single roaring curse—“Enough lies!”—he cut her head clean off. The body slumped, and the captive’s blood pooled across the stone floor. No one argued.
Dog spat. Slash muttered, “Well… that’s one way to end questioning.”
The barbarian left them soon after, saying only that he would lead the freed slaves to safety—and that he “owed the Slave Lords a blood debt.”
No one doubted he meant to collect.
Supplies, Signs… and Something Below
Pushing deeper into the complex, the group searched storerooms littered with ropes, manacles, dried rations, and cheap slave wine. Dixon noted claw marks on the walls—long, chittering trails that spoke of insectoid movement.
Slash knelt before an untouched door. “Not trapped,” he said, “and by ‘not trapped,’ I mean you open it.”
The others grinned. Slash sighed. Then pushed.
The Trap Below
The door opened readily, revealing a steep and narrow stone stairway leading down to a dimly lit area some 40 feet below.
Signaling the others for silence, Dog went first, creeping stealthily down the cramped stairs. Dixon the Dwarf followed 15 feet behind the intrepid ranger. Slash quickly jammed a spare tunic into the hole in his mandolin before descending to cover the dwarf's rear. Terry Or, fully aware of his inability to approach quietly, followed a further ten feet behind the bard. Silversun the mage and Irving the paladin patiently awaited their opportunity to follow.
Nearing the bottom, Dog set a careful foot on the stair that was accompanied by a loud 'CLICK'. Without further warning, the treads of the staircase suddenly flattened forming a steep slide that ended at the floor of the dimly lit room below. Dog's fleet slipped out from under him, and he slid headlong into the unknown chamber that waited at the bottom. Dixon the dwarf, also fell, nearly passing the ranger in his downward slide. The bard fell as well with the sound of a loud and dissonant chord. The muting tunic had escaped his mandolin, and with it had vanished all hopes of a clandestine investigation of the room at the stairs terminus. The Bard grimaced at Terry, the cleric, as he sped swiftly downwards on his back.
Terry, analyzing the plight of those ahead, extended his shield and mace to maintain his balance. With the ease of a practiced surfer he slid down the stairs upright, and maintained his footing as he was deposited at the landing below. His elation at navigating the challenge of the slide was quickly replaced by worry as the room that lay at the bottom could now be seen in detail.
They had stumbled straight into an ambush.
Six orcs armed with menacing crossbows ringed the room, each targeting one of the party.
Above them on a ledge at the far end of the room where a small table with several chairs, and fringed by numerous wooden crates stood a man in leather armor. Three giant weasels, frothing and snarling, appeared ready to obey the leather-clad man. His previous hope quickly transforming to worry and fear, Terry realized that this situation was anything but good.
Chaos and Blood
TerryOr attempted to cast from a scroll, but a weasel’s bite chomped down —five points of damage—and the spell fizzled. Silversun hurled a dagger that hummed with magic, striking a weasel latched onto Terry’s arm. Irving waded in with Harvey remaining at the top of the slide, meeting orcs rushing from the western ledge.
Then Dog saw him.
The Slave Lord.
Leather armor. A cruel smile. Eyes like a man who had sold hundreds.
Dog drew, sighted with practiced care, exhaled, and loosed. His skill proved more than worthy as the arrow flew straight and true, burying itself in the hated face of the slaver.
Natural 18 — a called shot. Triple damage. Headshot!
The slave lord reeled backward with a scream, but the battle was far from over.
The Slave Lord's Concealed Power
Battered, the slave lord crawled behind several wooden crates. Quickly searching through an open crate, he discovered what he was looking for: a green bottle. Raising it to his lips he smiled as he chugged its contents — and abruptly vanished.
The Backstab
"Only Irving immediately noticed the absence of the slave lord. Slash was involved in a near-acrobatic duel with one of the weasels, never rising to his feet but nimbly slashing at the beast as opportunities presented themselves. Terry still fought desperately against the weasel that had attached itself to his arm, while the weasel did its best to drain every last drop of Terry's blood. A hammer-blow from Dixon dispatched the weasel that had tried to attach itself to his leg, and the ranger shot arrow after arrow into the crossbow firing orcs thinning their numbers methodically until only one remained. As the slave lord had escaped, it seemed this battle would soon be over. Silversun pinned the last weasel with a web spell, as Slash delivered the killing blow. Given a moments respite, Slash immediately noticed the absence of the slave lord.
Slash turned, seeking the man as a target. “Uh… where did he—”
A now-visible longsword drove deliberately and painfully into Slash’s spine as the slave lord attacked him from behind.
Slash screamed. The slavelord now also appeared, smiling, his long blade dripping crimson. He pulled a second bottle from inside his leather jerkin, uncorked and quickly quaffed its contents. He vanished as he cackled with glee at the bard. The coward was gone.
Dixon, and Terry had been badly drained by the weasels. For a moment, it looked like the chamber might become a tomb. Terry began chanting prayers with a desperation born of his need for survival, and as he quickly recovered, he turned his attention to the dwarf who was likewise bleeding badly. Dog helped where he could as well, providing healing taught by generations of elves and knowledgable rangers, and the immediate disaster was diverted. As Irving dispatched the last of the orcs, he saw a trapdoor in the ceiling near the back of the chamber open and close.
The coward was gone.
Chase to the Old Courtyard
"You'll not escape Cuthbert's justice, foul cur!" Irving muttered as he raced for the ladder leading to the trapdoor. He raced up the ladder, flinging open the trapdoor and vaulting through it to the surface that lay beyond.
A ruined courtyard formed walls enclosing the cemetery that now met his gaze. Fog curled across broken gravestones, and shadows gathered at the base of some trees that grew just north of the dias upon which he now stood. As he watched, a door some thirty feet to the north opened and closed soundlessly.
"NO!" screamed Irving in frustration as he vaulted readily down from the four-foot tall dais to the ground below. He then noticed that the shadows near the trees appeared to move on their own.
A shape rose from the shadows.
A wraith.
Irving’s mace met the creature—but in its touch, he felt life drain away.
Energy and experience were torn from his very soul. His strength was failing. His protection from evil fizzled uselessly
Below, hearing the the vitriolic exclamation of 'NO!' from, the paladin, Terry Or knew that Irving needed help, although he would never ask for it. Abandoning further healing to the bard and the ranger, he raced to the ladder and the open trapdoor above. He noted the wraith and the predicament faced by the paladin. Filled with worry, Terry raised his holy symbol and invoked the wrath of St. Cuthbert. Radiant force filled the courtyard—
And the wraith screamed, dissolving into mist.
Irving swayed. Pale. Shaking.
“We’re getting you restored,” Terry growled. “Even if I have to drag you to St. Cuthbert myself.”
Loot, Loss, and What Comes Next
Back below, the group searched the chamber thoroughly, uncovering:
- 5,000 gp
- Three pieces of jewelry, 1,000 gp each
- A map showing slaver caravan routes and activity
- Three valuable giant weasel pelts
Exhausted, bleeding, and burdened with the weight of the day, the party agreed they needed to regroup, heal, and reach Highport for safety, trade, and supplies.
Silversun murmured about spellbooks. Dixon muttered about revenge. Slash limped, clutching his back. Irving tried to stand firmly though his life-force had been drained.
TerryOr promised he would petition St. Cuthbert for a way to restore Irving’s fallen levels—but warned it would likely require a quest, an atonement, or both.
The DM awarded 1,500 XP each.
And the slavelord?
Still out there.
Somewhere in Highport… or worse.
Episode Outcome Summary
XP Earned: 1,500 each
Treasure Found:
- 5,000 gp
- 3 × 1,000 gp jewelry
- 3 giant weasel pelts
- Slaver operations map
Major Events:
- Captive mercenary executed by barbarian
- Orc ambush and weasel attack
- Slavelord critically wounded but escaped via invisibility potion
- Slash backstabbed but survived
- Irving level-drained by wraith; saved via divine turning
- Plan to head to Highport for rest, trade, and regrouping
- Restoration for Irving now a long-term quest thread
Cliffhanger:
The slavelord remains at large—and he knows the party’s faces.
How come every Paladin gets Level Drained? He should have taken Protection From Evil
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