DMs Only: Harrowed Moon

Introduction

The light cast by the great lavender moon is the first thing that touches the adventurer, giving both him and his surroundings a pale, almost grey cast. Shadow is the only thing that escapes it, becoming deeper in contrast, darker, and inky black.

The air is cool, making it easy to move, although after a time it has a nasty habit of sinking under the skin and chilling the bones. Most journeys begin with the calm of the plains surrounding the Safe Haven Inn. The horizon contains the sloping curve of distant hills, or the jagged asymetry of the crystal forests. It is at the peak of these hills that Fidelia's castle can be seen - a tiny, distant thing across a broad sweep of misty plain. It glints promisingly, like a dark jewel.

All around are the wonders of this unique, dark realm within Koshe Marr, controlled by the oldest, and most deadly vampire in the Wold. The hills hide various communities - tiny hamlets of stone huts where the goblin workers live; the troll halls; the grand hunting lodge - a treasure in it's own right, full of terror and wonder; the crystal tree forests, beautiful to behold, that shatter into brilliant and deadly pieces upon the receipt of certain sounds.

Both hill and plain contain odd clusters of plants - mushroom and fungi that flourish in the pale light. Beware if their fuzzy heads become enamored of you and turn in your direction.

Of course there are other things to be wary of. For here, the adventurer is a trophy, to be chased, terrorized, caught and displayed. Pursuers can take many forms - roaming packs of lean, angular wolves, or one of Fidelia's chosen, such as the Huntsman, and there are the horrid clusters of disembodied, shrieking skulls that surround, pound and overwhelm the fugitive.

Why do you come here?
Do you seek to destroy?
Arrogant fool, you will meet your match.
Do you seek to recover what was lost?
The tiny stolen child, the twinkling artifact,
they are bait.
You are the prize, brave adventurer,
and it is your suffering they crave.''

And if you reach the castle?

There is but one way in - via the Catacombs - a labyrinth at the base of the castle itself, containing the polished skulls of those who thought they could conquer this place. A dreadful lich bars further egress, but if he can be distracted, oh, the treasures that lie here!

Upward, upward dear adventurer, past the chambers of torture, into galleries of priceless art, rooms brimming with gold and gems, archives displaying artifacts of immense power, and ultimately - Fidelia herself; the final prize, the jewel in the crown. Destroy her and all this can be yours.

The question is - do you want it?

Details of Harrowed Moon

• Cultural level: Occupants of Harrowed Moon live in simple conditions, roughly commensurate with our own Iron Age. They are tool users, and have become skilled stoneworkers and builders. They have developed an expert knowledge of the peculiar nature of their nocturnal flora and fauna.
• Ecology and Climate/Terrain: this land exists in a state of perpetual night, softly lit by the light of a constant purple moon. It never rains, and water is scarce, found only in wells. The sky remains black at all times, with no cloud. Plant life tends to be spindly and tall, and either black, bleached or luminous in hue. There are numerous varieties of mold and fungus unique to this realm. Some are semi-sentient. There are razor-sharp forests of crystal to the west, rolling hills and plant rich box canyons, and stretches of wasteland known as the Desolation.
• Population: 2500
• Races: Primarily Goblin and Troll.
• Languages and Religions: The official language of the realm is common. However, some of the Goblins and Trolls have managed to pass on some of their native languages through the generations.
• Government: Totalitarianism. Fidelia is the undisputed law of this realm, aided by her captains.
• Ruler: Fidelia is the Darklord and ruler of Harrowed Moon.
• Villages: Home to around 1500 goblins and 500 trolls, home to Fidelia's original group of workers. These are the builders and artisans of Fidelia's realm.

Locations of Harrowed Moon

• The Inn: a magical Inn that serves as a sanctuary to the needy. Its location is not fixed, and within its walls time does not pass.

The Inn represents many things, a gateway into Harrowed Moon - a place to rest, to eat, and gather one's strength. It is a place of sanctuary, and so strong is it's aura of safety, that it is easy to forget what terrors lie in wait outside its walls. Better to heed those tales told at the bar, fanciful and dreadful as they sound. For only those who have ventured beyond the door of this place, know the true menace that awaits the adventurer.

The main tavern is cozy, the staff are polite, if perhaps a little... odd -- rumor has it they're werewolves, but you'd never know it to look upon them. There's a fire to warm the bones, mulled wine, and a good menu with endless tasty mushroom dishes. One end of the room holds a large window, where one can look out into the lavender twilight of the land. Past the bar, at the opposite end, are two large, dwarven statues. Both statues carry swords. The left statue sword hilt is engraved with the words "Giggling Ghost", the right statue sword hilt is engraved with "Wold Catacombs".

These statues are gateways, to and from the Living Wold.

Upstairs, are bathing tubs, and beds swathed in white cotton and fluffy pillows.

This is a resting place -- an Inn. One will always be safe here.

• The Desolation: Wasteland, filled with dangers for the unwary traveller.
• The Crystal forest: A forest of trees petrified into crystalline form. Razor sharp leaves and branches provide a formidable obstacle.
• The Hunting Lodge: Home to one of Fidelia's Captains, the Master of the Hunt.

The Dark Lodge is the most intimidating structure within the Realm, aside from the Dark Queen's Castle. It sits perched atop a hill, overlooking a goblin stronghold, crouched in a forest of gigantic mushrooms and among spires of mineral/crystal formations. The lodge remains dark throughout the day, save the dim crimson flicker that emanates from the top most room of its fourth floor. The large, shuttered window opens to face Fidelia's Castle, which is off at a great distance. All other windows are shuttered.

Hounds can be heard at a distance. These 'hounds' are shadow mastiff guard dogs. About a dozen roam about, scaring off intruders, or maybe eating them. Every once in a while, a mastiff wanders off to a village and returns with a child for dinner.

The lodge is constructed mainly of stone from the Realm, it has many chimneys made of the same pitch black stone. These smoke stacks are built using an interlocking type of construction, much like brickwork, but using stone and skulls; smoke streams constantly from the blackened eye sockets. Adorning the exterior walls of the building are many skins, skulls and antlers of many types of creatures. At the main entrance, hanging under the awning of the porch, there is a wind chime fashioned out of one entire human skeleton. The chime swings continuously, as if a breeze were present. The interior of the lodge is decorated with stuffed heads on wall-plaques, stuffed creatures of all sorts lining the foyer on pedestals, glass eyes staring at your soul and large, plain cast iron chandeliers hanging from central beams within the room.

It contains many different sized rooms upstairs and down. Each room has its own fireplace with crackling embers that erupt when someone enters. There are no cobwebs anywhere within the warm inviting domicile. The walls are wood paneled, painted deep crimson. Much of the furniture is wooden, roughly made and colored dark green. Few pieces are plush with cushions and pillows.

The Lodge is a resting place for precious items, delivered by the thieves, before being delivered to the Fidelia's Castle.Amongst the Lodge's many trophies, is a long extinct creature that possesses a horn which, when ground down, is a vital component in certain spells.

• The Old Church: The caves the wolves call home, are under an old, abandoned church and cemetery, mostly in disrepair. No roof, open to the elements. Where the altar once stood is the entrance to said lair. Under the church is an old labyrinth of corridors, where rectangular holes in the wall, stacked 3 high stand. (obvious as an old burial chamber)

What corpses there once was buried here are now strewn all about the floor and some pieces and scraps still in the crevices. If you manage to follow the right sequences of twists and turns you will come to a wall, that has been ripped out, and through that you have entered the front of the Werewolf's den.

Entering through the hole you are met with a Large room, natural cave and humanoid digging and looking up to the ceiling you can see the roots of various shrubbery and every now and again the bottom of a coffin. (yes, you guessed it, directly aboe is the old cemetary) Some of the coffins have no bottoms and on the floor below them are the bones and debris from whoever used to reside in them. From this opening you have 2 exits other than that which you entered, a rough hewn passageway to the left and a semi hewn, semi humanoid made passageway to the right.

Down the natural passageway it too twists and turns, dips and rises and after about 1/2 a mile it opens up into another cavern. This is where the soldiers of the pack reside. There is straw and grass and chewed up blankets and bed about this cave and in the north corner is a pool of water. About 3 feet deep that is fed by a steady stream of water from the wall. At the bottom is a hole like that of a drain that leads to who knows where. (the pack uses this for there drinking water)

Down the other passage way, the first 100 feet, it is natural rock and dirt. And straight. The last 30 feet is Humanoid made that ends with a double wooden, iron bound door with the letter F on the left door and slightly lower the letter A on the right door. The hallway for both sides are 10 feet wide and 10 feet tall. 15 feet in front of the door is a trap floor. Stepping on it without speaking the proper command phrase in Troll (Loyal to Fidelia) causes the whole hallway to cave in. The doors are not locked.

Opening the doors your breath is taken back. It is lavish and undestroyed. Clean always like a permanent maid is there to clean it. (there is 3 ghosts loyal to Amalee that form in the room every day and clean it, then go back to their abode. (3 jars on the shelf by the books)

Centered along the back wall is a huge bed with satin sheets and a perfect mattress. 2 nightstands, one on either side adorn the bed and at the foot of the bed is a bench. Unbroken and unscratched that looks like it belonged in the church above. To the left is a 20 foot wide bookcase, filled to overflowing with many books and spaced randomly on this bookcase is 3 large jars. (see above) On the floor is many skins from cats and bears to, on either side of the bed, perfectly skinned humans. Torch sconces line both hallways and each room.

The first room you come to upon entering the lair is where the 30 or so normal wolves live.

Above the headboard in Amalee's room is a secret door that leads to a long hallway. (250 feet)

DM note: every 25 feet is a trap. Familiar enough that Amalee can bypass but not for anyone else. Each trap set up as a difficulty of 30 except for the one closest to her room and the exit/entrance, those 2 traps are dc45. Failure means the whole hallway caves in and is unpassable.

DM note: cemetary has 10 undead of your choosing roaming around it but never leaving the confines of it. Even though the fence is long been destroyed, it's like the barrier still stands.

DM note: upon entering the church, and the labyrinth below it everyone is under the Unhallow spell. It ends once you leave the church or enter her lair through the wall.

DM note: watching the area around the church are always wolves. Her pets as it were. And anyone getting within 1 mile of the area she automatically becomes aware via her pets. Amalee is the alpha in her pack. her word to them is the law and deviation from her word is swift and final.

• The Skull Catacombs: The entrance would appear to be a haven, a respite from the cold damp mists that congregate at the base of the castle. Air, warm and dry, wafts from a 20ft high tunnel, and a faint glow of light can be seen glowing in it's depths; welcoming, beckoning - after the terrors of the surrounding swamps and plains, the tunnel offers shelter and warmth.

For those who wish to breach those high, sinister walls, the tunnel is the ONLY way into Castle Fidelia.

Strange, that a mind would regard this entrance with such benevolence, but then light and heat are such precious commodities in this particular realm.

A level path of rough-hewn stone leads inward, easily wide enough to accomodate three medium-sized adventurous souls, should they wish to walk side by side.

Around the first bend to the left is where the first sounds are heard - whispers, an occasional cry. The path becomes brighter, and a sweeping right hand bend brings more. More light, more sound, more space. A 50 ft high cavern awaits, an imperfect cylinder about 40ft wide, carved into solid rock, and lining its walls - shelves crammed with skulls: human, elven, orc, most of them piled haphazardly on top of one another, their eyeless sockets staring outward, upward, downward at nothing.

At the far side of the cavern, the tunnel continues, and the mind begins to play tricks upon itself as the cavern is left behind. For a dead thing cannot turn its eyes and follow the wake of the living. And yet the feeling of being watched raises gooseflesh and the beginnings of fear amongst those who pass by.

The tunnel narrows. Now only two may walk side by side. Here, light comes from niches carved into the walls. More skulls sit there inside these small alcoves - some surrounded by dust, forgotten; others are decorated with small ornaments, fruit and candles, like shrines. Some of the alcoves bear plaques or small leaves of parchment, and names are inscribed upon them, along with poems, stories and rhymes. There is life here; one skull appears to be whispering, another sobbing, and yet another is deathly quiet. One seems to float on air, one has burning coals for eyes that appear to gleam with malevolence.

The tunnel continues, twisting and turning, its walls filled with more and more skulls. The further one travels, the more lively the walls become. One skull lets out a sudden, deafening scream as the tunnel ahead forks left and right. Another bounces up and down in it's own little alcove, threatening to shatter it's own jaw.

Here, the labyrinth begins; a maze of tunnels and caverns, eager to betray even the best sense of direction. Whispers and chatter mix with blood-curdling howls. One cavern's skulls sing together in eerie harmony; another cavern is completely silent, its bony inhabitants completely still.

It is enough to drive a sane mind to distraction, and yet - the secret to the labyrinth must be found in order to gain passage into the castle.

Eventually, at the further side of the Catacombs, at the end of a non-descript, shadowy tunnel, lies a gateway of some note. Here the rock has been carved into two spiralling vertical columns, and on the overhead lintel that spans the two, is the carving of a large, lidless eye. Faint torchlight can be seen beyond, and a cool breeze blows softly. Through this gateway lies the entrance to Fidelia's castle.

But beware! For this final section of the labyrinth contains a fearsome guardian. An inquisitive mind may have wondered at some point, on it's journey through this place. How did all these skulls get here? Who collected them? Who takes care of them? Pray you never find out. The goblins call him The Collector. He is terror incarnate, a lich of immense power. These Catacombs, this labyrinth, this gate, belong to him - and you, my dears, are trespassing.

• The Castle: Home to Fidelia. This cautionary tale will tell you all you need to know about this dread place.

People of Harrowed Moon

The Huntsman

Background:

To be an assassin is to tread a lonely path, until loneliness grows coherent, more solid, eventually becoming greater than any other foe - a gibbering spectre to be reckoned with in one's nightmares. For a while of course, it can be dealt with. Some actually enjoy its company for the most part, but for those who are forced against their true nature to keep company with it -- nothing but madness awaits. Love, friendship, companionship, Community -- the Huntsman had thought himself cured of all of it. He had taken revenge upon those who had shunned him, and taken pride in its manner of delivery. In stealing their lives or their possessions, he stripped them of what they loved; gave them a little taste of what it was like. He was beyond caring about himself, or so he thought. Enter dear, sweet Helene. Ah. For a short time he had hope. She loved him despite what he was, and that steely, hardened resolve began to slide. For her. Just for her. And just when that diamond façade had cracked wide open, leaving him vulnerable and wanting her, needing her -- she was snatched away from him. Her death was sudden, bloody and cruel, her throat torn, her life's blood drained, leaving behind a dry, ugly, ragged shell. Despair ripped him to pieces, and riding on its tailcoats, was Fidelia. Such a tiny little thing - frail with a sweet face and hair like a long skein of dark silk. This was Helene's murderer? Oh yes. And it wasn't Helene that she had come for. Helene was merely used, like a tool, to show him, to cut him open, sweeping aside his boiling rage and plans of revenge as though they were nothing. Loneliness? Longing? The pain he felt now was a mere drop in the ocean. He thought he had suffered. He thought he had conquered it all. What she showed him were huge caverns of emptiness; holes of despair a thousand miles deep; enough to tear apart a million souls. But she also showed him that it was a lesson he could share. It was the brink of a precipice, to which he could lead others. And wasn't that what he'd been doing all these years? Yes, yes of course it was. He began to see the sense of it, the beauty, the utter, dark clarity. Helene had been a test, a key that had unlocked the door to a whole new world of pain. Yes! And now Fidelia had made him stronger, given him new powers. Oh, they were going to suffer.

Description:

The huntsman's followers are few, but they exist to serve him. These servants have formed bands of petty thieves and a small, exclusive guild of assassins called the Crimson Hands. Not much more is known about the Hands.. The thieves live out in the Wold and serve only the Huntsman in all dealings. They steal precious things and return them to Fidelia's realm, delivering them to the Huntsman, Fidelia's number one procurer of fine objects, rare finds and the occasional artifacts. The thieves do all the dirty work. There is something to be said for these 'thugs', they have one of the only known device for planar travel within the Realm, not owned by Fidelia or the Skull Keeper. The general populace knows nothing of this device. None of the Huntsman's followers have ever seen his 'true' face. The Huntsman prefers to strike his 'prey' at a distance, however, he also gets great joy out of watching his quarry suffer at his hand. He loves the smell of fresh blood in the air and enjoys hearing the last breath leave his victim. "If its still breathing, my jobs not done." This seems to be his motto. He also tends to avoid looking like 'himself' as much as possible, which enhances how dangerous he actually is. He avoids 'intimate contact' or making acquaintances if possible; he'd assume kill anyone than become known.

RANGER/ASSASSIN STATS:

Name: The Huntsman (real name unknown) Age: Unknown Race: Human (suspected to be an outsider) Height: Unknown Class: ranger/assassin Weight: Unknown Level: 15rgr/1asn Base Speed: 30 feet Campaign: Koshe Marr Alignment: Lawful Evil S: 16 +3(*) D: 30 +10(@i) C: 18 +4(*) I: 20 +5(*) W: 24 +7(*i) Ch: 15 +2 '*' level adjustment, '@' magic items, 'i' inherent Hit Points: 168 (15d8)(1d6)(+64con) Armor Class: 40 (+10Dex,+4RoP,+8Bracers,monksAC+8) [Touch AC 32, Flat Footed 30][+Defending Short Sword][Full Defense +6]

Saving Throws: Fortitude: +14 (base: rgr +9, asn +0, Con: +4)[+1luck] Reflex: +22 (base: rgr +9, asn +2, Dex: +10)[+1luck] Will: +13 (base: rgr +5, asn +0, Wis: +7)[+1luck] Note: Endurance Feat. Evasion. Immune to detect thoughts, discern lies and ways to alignment.

Combat Attack Bonuses: Melee: base: rgr +15/+10/+5, asn +0, Str: +3 Ranged: base: rgr +15/+10/+5, asn +0, Dex: +10 Melee Total: +18/+13/+8, Ranged Total: +25/+20/+15 Weapons: Note: Sneak Attack w/30ft, +1d6, frost, adamantine, keen 3/day 1)Baneful Mourning +29/+24/+19 1d6+8 105ft 19-20/x3 2)Baneful Mourning(rs) +27/+27/+22/+17 1d6+8 105ft 19-20/x3 3)Baneful Mourning(pb) +30/+25/+20 1d6+9 30ft 19-20/x3 4)Baneful Mourning(pb/rs) +28/+28/+23/+18 1d6+9 30ft 19-20/x3 5)Baneful Mourning(ms,2 arrows) +27/+27/+22/+17 105ft 19-20/x3 6)Baneful Mourning(ms,3 arrows) +25/+25/+25/+20/+15 7)Baneful Mourning(ms,4 arrows) +23/+23/+23/+23/+20/+15 8)Unarmed(wf) +23/+23/+18/+13 1d8+3 x2 9)Shortswords(twf,wf) +23/+23/+23/+18/+13 1d6+3 17-20/x2 'wf'(weapon finesse), 'rs'(rapid shot), 'pb'point blank, 'ms'manyshot 'twf'(two weapon fighting) Total Character Feats: H. Point Blank Shot 1. Far Shot 3. Two Weapon Fighting 6. Improved Two Weapon Fighting 9. Leadership (Cohort of at least 15th level, likely some nasty beasty) 12. Improved Critical (short bow) 15. Weapon Finesse

Skill Name: total skill points by class, rgr196/asn9(19ranks) Concentration 15 +4 +1 =20 Disguise 5(9) +2 +3 =10 (disguise @ will) Gather Information 1 +2 +3 =6 Hide 16 +10 +1+10 =37 (camouflage) Knowledge (dungeoneering) 17 +5 +1 =23 Knowledge (geography) 17 +5 +1 =23 Knowledge (nature) 18 +5 +1 =24 Listen 18 +7 +1 =26 Move Silently 18 +10 +1 =29 Search 18 +5 +1 =24 Sense Motive 2 +7 +1 =10 Spot 18 +7 +1 =26 (darkvision 60') Tumble 5 +10 +1 =16 Use Rope 15 +10 +1 =26 Survival 18 +7 +1 =26 (swift track) Languages: Common, Undercommon, Infernal, Abyssal, Draconic, Orc

Ranger - 7th level caster 1st 2nd 3rd 4th Prepared Spells(dc17+spell) 4 3 3 3 Note: Huntsmen uses and prepares ranger spells mainly for healing, protection and self enhancements. Assassin - 1st level caster 1st Spells per day(dc15+spell) 2 Spells Known 4 Assassin Spells Known: First Level: Disguise Self, Feather Fall, Ghost Sound, True Strike

Ranger Features: Favored Enemy - human+4, magical beast+4, goblin+2, outsiders+4 (good) Combat Style - Archery (Improved Combat Style, Combat Style Mastery), Track, Wild Empathy, Endurance, Animal Companion (none), Woodland Stride, Swift Tracker, Evasion, Camouflage, proficient in all simple and martial weapons and in light armor and shields (except tower shields) Note: Combat Style = Rapid Shot, Many Shot, Improved Precise Shot without prerequisites. Assassin Features: Sneak Attack +1d6, Death Attack (DC 16), Poison Use, Spells, proficient in crossbow (hand, light and heavy), any dagger, dart, sap, rapier, short bow (normal and composite) and short sword and with light armor but not shields

List of Magic Items: Two Quivers of Ehlonna (1800x2) [w/javelins of lightning and adamantine, cold iron and silver arrows] +4 Composite Shortbow (Str +2) 'Baneful Mourning' [unholy and monstrous humanoids and human banes] (128500) +5 Adamantine Shortsword of Frost (101010) +5 Defending Shortsword (98310) Two Scabbards of Keen Edge (16000x2) Bag of Holding Type III (7400) Stone of Good Luck [+1 luck on saves, skill and ability checks](20000) Ring of Protection +4 (32000) Ring of Mind Shielding (8000) Gloves of Dexterity +6 (36000) Amulet of Proof against Detection and Location [non-detection] (35000) Bracers of Armor +8 (64000) Circlet of Persuasion [+3 on cha based checks] (4500) Robe of Blending [disguise self at will, +10 comp to hide] (30000) Monks Belt (13000) Goggles of Night [dark vision 60'] (12000) Boots of Teleportation [3/day] (49000) Manual of Quickness of Action +5 [used] (137500) Tome of Understanding +5 [used] (137500)

Tales of Harrowed Moon

Fidelia

Dark grey clouds had followed him, and they hung over the town like a mantle of mourning. Marteaus was still handsome then, charismatic, dark-haired and mysterious, and his talk of suffering and purity drew her to him just like the others, who flocked to him, meek as lambs.

She listened, enraptured at the gatherings in the town square - once close enough that he actually spoke to her, asking her name. "That means faithful I think," he said after her stammered reply. "Would you be faithful to me, Fidelia?" She nodded. There was no question.

"It is a long and painful road, but you will be stronger for it at the end, pretty one."

He smiled and touched her forehead.

That particular night she stood in front of the mirror at her parent's home. Was she really pretty? Perhaps. She was young, just past her seventeenth birthday, with a mass of dark hair that shone like spun silk down her back. Her features were fine-boned, her eyes deep pools of grey.

Right then she knew she would follow him. She would know suffering and purity. She would become strong, and she would follow him to the very end.

But the morning after, she discovered he had gone. The others shrugged their shoulders and returned to their homes. But not Fidelia. She hurried home, packed a few provisions, and set off after him. He couldn't have gone far, after all, he'd arrived on foot, and so presumably had left that way too.

And so she set off, leaving the safe confines of the small town she called home, feeling both reckless and exhilarated. In some ways, later, she would rue her infatuation, but that was later, when it had been replaced by something more powerful.

She walked all day and didn't find him. Come twilight she was at her wits end. Her feet hurt and she was exhausted. She sat down by the side of the road and felt tears well in her eyes. He'd left her, but hadn't he told her to follow?

A sound startled her, and she turned around. Behind her was a man - not him, this one was taller; he looked rumpled and pale, like he'd been living in a closet all winter. Throwing caution to the wind, she asked him if he'd seen anyone on the road, describing Marteaus's features as best she could.

"Ah," replied the man. "So, I've missed him, too? Pity."

Fidelia's heart leapt, and she began to talk to whom she presumed to be another disciple, prying for information, anything the man might know that would lead her to him. It was past sundown, and getting darker by the minute. The man stepped closer, out of the shadow of the trees.

"I could tell you things about suffering," he said, stopping her words in their tracks, shadows drifting across his world-weary face, "In fact I can show you. Right now."

Infatuation blinds you to everything. Until it's too late. He was so fast, she didn't have time to scream, and her suffering began right then - when she became a victim of this man's hunger; a hunger so strong, so wrapped up in bloodlust and need, that it killed her. When it was over, and she became aware once more, he told her this -

"I'm sure you're angry with me now, but I've done you a favor. The man you seek is an immortal, and if you truly wish to follow him in every respect, then you must be immortal too. I have bestowed that gift on you.

"But know the blessed earth is your only refuge while the sun shines, girl. It's near dawn. I suggest you start digging."

He left her then, to her own devices, and so her true suffering began. She never saw him again, but she did see Marteaus.

Years, centuries passed by, and she learned to survive, and learned to kill. In the beginning she stayed in the dark, lonely and full of dread; she drained the blood of animals and snakes. Her first taste of human blood came nearly five years after her 'rebirth'. It was indescribable, and afterwards she knew that nothing else would suffice.

She was hunted, almost killed on two separate occasions by the same paladin. A game that turned sour when she outlived him, finally. She outlived them all, that was the damnation of it - to see those who were part of her life shrivel and die, leaving her alone and having to start anew.

Time passed, and she learned control - control of herself, and control of others. She found ways of keeping her beauty. She had slaves, lovers, friends. They all died. She amassed fortunes and lost them, over and over, and through it - her yearning for Marteaus became finely honed into a sharp, double-edged blade -- hate on one side, love on the other.

Then one evening she saw him. He was just as she remembered him, and he smiled as he sat alongside her and took her hand, and all her hatred was forgotten. His touch sent a shiver down her unholy, unnatural spine, and she wanted to fall at his feet.

"I've been watching you, Fidelia,"

"Have I suffered enough, my Lord?" she asked, and he laughed softly.

"We can never suffer enough, my dear, but you are becoming strong, and you are able to show others the path to purity through loneliness, just as I do with pain and disease. The weak fall, the strong grow tall, and you have grown very tall."

"What must I do, my Lord?"

"Continue along that path you have chosen, Fidelia. I await at the end of it."

He stood up, and he left. His very presence had left her too weak to protest, or to follow him, and so, when she had the strength to do so, she continued as bade.

Fidelia became mighty, someone to be feared, even amongst her own vampire kind. More years passed, and more. Wars split the Wold in two, and she endured. During the bountiful times, she was there to reap. Then came a mighty Gods war, led by Marteaus himself that was at once terrible and magnificent, where even she felt ripped asunder, destroyed into a million fragments. In the aftermath, she lay confused in an earthly tomb, wondering what had befallen him. Her answer came one quiet night in the newly born Wold.

"Did you think I'd forget someone such as you?"

She turned to mist and escaped her self-imposed confinement, solidifying before him, not knowing which terrible emotion would surface. She did not dare answer him. He looked.. better, satisfied, as though something he yearned for had been handed to him at last.

"Come," he said, "I have a better place for you than this."

His words filled her with joy. Were they to be together at last? Of course she should have known better.

They passed through the veils of the Wold, until they reached a dark landscape, barren of just about everything except for a pale violet moon.

"This is for you," he said, and left her once again.

Her rage knew no bounds, to be left in this place of rock and dark skies, but she was not alone. He had given her ugly things - trolls, and goblins. While she ranted and screamed, they sat nearby, watching her fearfully.

It was their pathetic terror that finally calmed her. They were undeserving of this wrath she would give to a God if she dared, and so she quelled her rage, and took stock of her situation.

She knew this was a dead place. Her old, wracked undead soul felt quite at home. There would be no threat of the sun's deathly rays here. However, the only life she had to prey upon were her trolls, and her goblins, and that would never suffice, and so she set out to uncover the mystery of this place.

Eventually she discovered that although she could not leave (such a cruel trick, Marteaus), the trolls and goblins could, and that if she treated them kindly, they would bring her things through the veil. She was kind, and they brought her many things.

They built her a magnificent castle on the rock, and small villages for themselves. They brought plants that would thrive under the lavender moon's ghostly light, and most of all they brought her prey.

Paladins she loved in particular. She loved to stalk them, and to break them slowly. It was a dangerous game, but one that reminded her of her youth.

One day, they brought her a dwarven Fixer. One of Alemi's chosen. From him she learned all manner of things about Woldsblood - what it could do, and how dangerous it was. Other victims brought other knowledge. A few she turned - discovering that they could cross the veil, too. Many others she let die, storing their skulls - elf, gnome, dwarf, human, half-breeds and taur. She captured mighty wizards and they suffered her punishment until she stripped them of all knowledge and added it to her own. Sometimes she was cruel, other times a loving mistress, whatever the method - suffering was the key.

Her castle grew, above ground and under. Priceless art and jewels shared a roof with chambers of torture. The catacombs filled to the brim with skulls. She discovered a way to capture souls and put them in a jar - kept alive with a touch of Woldsblood. Then she found ways to make them suffer. Many ways. She had a room built for her favorites - an entire room full of paladin souls in torment. Her minions were quiet and cunning, and those high-powered ones who she kept close to her, were hand-picked for their strength, their powerful intellects, and their loyalty. They were not all undead, not all vampires. It was possible for a living creature to thrive here if she bade it so. But every one of them had known loss, and had been torn apart by the bitterness of loneliness. She gave them companionship, and a place to belong, and they loved her for it.

As for Marteaus, all Fidelia could do was wait.

Journal of Roderigo Montoya, Paledin of Alemi (Part 1)

"My guide has proven as good as his word. Though I was loath to trust the word of a goblin it seems I was wrong to be so suspicious. He has indeed brought me to the foothills of the mysterious realm known only as Harrowed Moon.

When I began my quest to bring the Holy Word of Alemi to the forsaken souls of these far-flung Realms I anticipated that I would encounter horror and evil. I had heard rumours that this place was a province of Marteaus, ruled by some terrifying witch of his, that the populace were brutal, savage servants of their dark mistress. Terror was expected. What I did not expect was to be met with such serene, still beauty.

This land is a marvel. Beneath her eternal lilac moon the Realm exists like some bewitching twilight dream, her palette of purples, blues and deep velvet blacks a soothing tonic to the mind. I don't ever recall having felt so calm.

Everything here is strange. The air carries countless wonderful musky aromas whose source I can only guess at. Crystalline outcroppings tower over still, mercurial pools. There are many curious moulds and fungi which seem to flourish in this half light, delicate and elaborate. I must collect some specimens to examine further. My guide, clearly a superstitious type, claims that the plant life here can move towards light! I am looking forward to leaning more of the folktales of these simple, happy people.

That has been perhaps my greatest surprise. To find a community made up primarily of Goblins and Trolls living in peace, harmony and happiness! I would have never believed that such base creatures were capable of building such a successful community. By all accounts they have their Queen, the Lady Fidelia to thank for their conversion to civilization. They speak of her in glowing, even loving terms, and I am looking forward to meeting with her. The horror stories I was told are quite clearly the tall tales of the ignorant. After rest I shall visit her Twilight Palace. I am certain that with reasoned persuasion and pure heart she will prove a powerful convert to Great Alemi's cause."

Journal of Roderigo Montoya, Paledin of Alemi (Part 2)

"He comes for me now, and I know my time in this accursed place is almost done. I can run no more. My fear of her Lich and his pack of dreaded skulls near overwhelms me, and yet I see (only now do I see!) that they may bring me the release I crave. Soon I shall be free of this terrible, beautiful place, this land of mists and shadows cast by that eternal lilac moon. Free of the endless nightmares, the creeping terror... free of her.

Fidelia. The Pale Lady. Dark Mistress. Vampire Queen. Undisputed ruler of this sinister realm. Servant only to its loathsome creator, Marteaus. Never has horror borne such exquisite form. She fills my mind, she repells and entices me in equal measure, and when I think on her I am torn in two. I become fearful for my sanity, I fear for my very soul!

My soul; all I have left is hope for is the fate of my immortal soul. Hope that even here in this elegant pit of tranquil damnation my plea will reach the ear of Blessed Alemi. I will not believe the tales that she owns us even after our deaths. I cannot! For if that were true, if there were truly no escape...

No! Though this place be forsaken by the Gods themselves I shall not give in to despair! Though I hear her henchman at the door I shall not give up this last, fragile hope. Hear my plea, sweet Alemi, and free me from this place! I beg of you Blessed Lord, let the horror end!

---

This blood-spattered, hastily scrawled page is nailed to a small wooden door, one of countless thousands in the Catacombs, far beneath Fidelia's Castle. Behind the door, in a cell barely one foot square lies a skull that cannot stop screaming.

Interview with Jeb Skymorrow, on Fidelia's Castle

(transcription borrowed from the Star Tower, which details an interview with Jeb Skymorrow, a male human ranger from Osto.)

This is a strange place for a meeting, Master Skymorrow. A graveyard outside Plateau City, in the dead of night?

"Yes, well, never mind about that. You wanted to know about Fidelia's Castle? Let's get on with it. I don't have all night. And call me Jeb..."

Of course, can I just ask why a ranger from Osto found himself in Harrowed Moon in the first place?

"I was hired. A team of Paladins. They hired me, a sorceror and two rogues to help them rescue a comrade of theirs. Do you want to know about the castle, or not?"

Yes, sorry Master Sk - I mean Jeb. Okay. Tell me what you can.

"All right then. We'd heard there was only one way into the castle, and that was underground. Nevertheless, we did a recon around the exterior of the place, just to make sure. It's a forbidding structure - tall, with stained glass windows lit from the inside. You can see those windows from miles away. They're like a beacon. "To get right up to the castle, you have to get past a perimeter wall and a rusty old gate. Both the wall and the gate are in disrepair. They didn't give us a problem. There's even a door - into the castle itself, but it's bricked up solid. From close up, you get an appreciation of the masonry. In some ways it's beautiful. Even I, a woodsman, could appreciate the craftsmanship that had gone into it. And on the corner rooftops, and parts of the battlements, someone has carved huge gargoyle creatures, all of them looking down with empty stone eyes. It gives you the shivers. "Anyway, one of the rogues wondered about climbing the walls until we could get to the windows, but that's when the first truly horrible aspect of the castle became apparent. "Touch the wall - it feels sticky - VERY sticky. After an initial assessment, the rogues wouldn't go near it, and with good reason. If you look up along the height of the wall, you can see some thin objects sticking out of it. Back up a little, and you can make out bones. It's as though folk have tried to climb, and got stuck, just stuck there like an insect, and have been left to die and rot. Or maybe their flesh was picked clean by the bats. There are bats. Clouds of them circling the top levels of the castle. "One of the paladins informed us that the sticky substance was congealed blood. That's when we decided to backtrack and try the underground route via the Catacombs. And I swear, as we left, I saw one of those gargoyles move. You must understand, I was starting to get jumpy at this point. In any case, if it was alive, it left us alone."

Are the Catacombs easy to reach from there?

"Oh yes. The ground is fairly solid right around the castle itself, a blessing after the swamp that surrounds it."

And what of the Catacombs?

"We don't have time for that, now. Let's just say that by the time we'd gotten through and reached the main castle entrance, we'd lost three of our party - a paladin, the sorceror, and one of the rogues. Lost to us, that is, certainly not lost to Fidelia. "Anyway. There's a point in the catacombs where you go through a small, carved gateway. The tunnel beyond opens out, into one of the largest caverns you've ever seen - it's huge - and against the far wall, across a carved stone bridge, is the castle entrance. "It's very impressive. The stonemasons have left the impression that the lowest level of the castle has sunk down, through the stone, and come to rest here. There is light here, too, courtesy of huge torches positioned at intervals on the bridge, and right before the entry way. "There's one thing I must say at this point, after the horror of the Catacombs, this particular area feels..."

Feels what?

"It feels like you've done it. Like you've got past everything, and achieved some measure of success. I suppose, in way, it's true. Nevertheless, the feeling is false. "We all strode over that bridge, like conquering kings, over an abyss so deep that it seemed to have no end to it's depth. But we didn't care. We'd made it this far, and it felt good. I think it's part of the Thrall."

The Thrall?

"Yes, the Thrall, and the first thing it does, is take away your edge - you know, that part of you that gives you the upper hand in a fight, the part that allows you to survive against all odds. It's something in the atmosphere, that quells your fear, and calms you. Ever been deep in the forest in springtime, when everything smells so new, the birds are singing, and the sunlight breaks in shafts through the trees? To me, it was the same thing. One of the paladins said it felt like being in church. We wanted to be here."

And were you able to get inside?

"Oh, yes. The welcome mat had been laid out, and we stepped over the threshold like we were all coming home to a banquet and a warm hearth. "And that - is when the real horrors began. "We lost the other rogue on the grand staircase. At this point the paladins were no help at all. It was as though they had already lost their minds. The staircase runs all the way up the through the interior, but it keeps changing, shifting. Sometimes it looks simple enough, other times it seems to change into a never ending web of stairs going in no conceivable direction. The whole castle is like that. Your eyes are tricked at every turn."

What happened?

"To the others? I'm not sure. We climbed and explored. We found rooms of torture right alongside chambers packed high with treasures - chests of gems, spilling out onto the floor, statues of pure gold, tables displaying crowns and necklaces - all these alongside racks, fire pits, and the smell of fear - of blood and excrement. "Some rooms looked as though they were lived in, and we saw people, creatures, wandering about the rooms and corridors. "At one point we followed the sound of music, and came across a massive ballroom. There looked to be a grand ball taking place - dancing, food, wine - people were laughing and whirling around the dancefloor. And the paladins, it was here that I knew I had lost them, as they mingled with the guests. "I tried to back out, and it is here that I met him."

Him?

"Yes. "He told me he was Fidelia's father. I didn't believe him of course, but the Thrall around him was very strong. I truly wanted to believe him. He looked thin, disheveled. His clothes were almost as dog-eared as mine, and neither of us looked suited to this lavish merriment currently on display. "He asked me if I wanted to look around; that he could take me to places no one else had ever seen. Well, of course I agreed. I was looking for a way out, and if by chance I found it on this little excursion, I hoped to throw off the mantle of the Thrall and discover some form of self preservation. "At his side, the castle seemed to behave itself as we walked, always moving upward - stairs were stairs, doors didn't disappear, perspective remained solid. He told me about the grand ball, going on what was now about a hundred feet below us - how Fidelia sometimes threw open that bricked up door on the outside of the castle, and invited everyone in for the party. "It was just a lure of course. One of her 'grand tricks' as he called it. This man - Fidelia's so-called father - he was very personable, self-effacing and had a dead-pan humour that cought me smiling more than once, despite the terrors of this place. I grew to like him as we strode through magnificent rooms, and along grand halls full of finely-stitched tapestries depicting gruesome scenes. "Eventually, we reached the topmost part of the castle, and a room which was both simple and breathtakingly beautiful. Pride of place was given to a portrait, that rested in a magnificent frame on an easel next to the window. The man in the portrait looked proud and strong; some kind of holy warrior, by the look of his garb. The small plaque attached to the frame read Roderigo Montoya. "I have no idea who this Montoya was, but this was clearly her room - Fidelia's, and the sudden realization of that jolted my instincts out of their stupor. I wanted to run. By all the Gods I was ready to dive out of the window and jump to my death until he talked me out of it. "The man told me not to worry; that she wasn't here right now. He was very persuasive."

So, you actually got as far as her inner sanctuary? Good grief, and you're here, alive to tell the tale?

"I did, and I'm here. As for being alive..."

I'm sorry. If this is too traumatic then maybe we can continue when -

"No. No, you must listen to this. The man, this father of hers, he opened up one of the windows, and we stepped out into a garden on the rooftop. It was beautiful, an array of dark, delicate flowers and fronded shrubs that spilled out onto narrow, meandering little pathways. "At the far edge of this garden was a low wall. At one end of the wall squatted one of those big carved gargoyles I told you about. An ugly beast it was, but quite still, suggesting that my earlier fears that these things could come to life were quite unfounded. "In any case, my attention was soon fully drawn to the scene beyond the wall. You can see the entire realm of Harrowed Moon from up here, you know. It's beautiful. Everything - the crystal forests, the lights from the villages, the reflection of the swamp waters below. As we stood there looking out, the bats were about 50ft below us, streams of them, flying hither and thither. It was quite a sight. "Then the man told me something strange. He told me that this was one of the few places where she was vulnerable, this little rooftop refuge of hers. He told me this with a strange, sad look in his eyes, and then he beckoned me toward something that lay in the centre of the garden. "It was a rose shrub, a healthy specimen despite the poor light. "When this blooms," he said, "she comes out here to pluck the single flower that emerges. It carries properties necessary for some of her spells. The plant puts out one flower at regular intervals, the equivalent of once per day in your realm, or perhaps once a night. The bloom itself is fragile, and lasts mere minutes. But if someone were to catch her out here, alone...

This is astounding. Was he actually telling you how she could be killed? Her own father??

"It would appear so, although I don't know. Appearances are deceptive in that Realm, and allegiances are complicated."

So, what happened next, and how did you get out?

"Truly, I don't remember much after that. You know, I should be going. It'll be light soon."

Please, Jeb, you must remember something. How did you escape that awful place?

"Escape? But I don't... but then again I must have. "I can tell you one thing. Escape - hurts. The Thrall will tell you otherwise, but don't you believe it. This kind of death - it hurts. Now I have to go. I have told you enough."

No wait. Jeb! Jeb? Master Skymorrow?

Transcriber's note: Subject appeared to fade, lose substance, eventually becoming a trail of smoke that sank below the ground's surface. Validity of subject's tale - questionable.

THE LICH:

Background:

His father was a Fixer, and it was his father who first introduced him to magic. Oh, how he was fascinated. So much so that it became a twin obsession, along with collecting things. He loved to collect. It began with anything, but gradually, over the years, it was skulls he enjoyed collecting the most - rat skulls, mouse skulls; skulls of cats, dogs, and badgers. He loved their shape, how his fingers felt when they ran along the cool smooth surfaces. It was enjoyable, harmless. The rot really didn't start to set in until his father had a visit from the butcher, who complained that he'd been pestered once too often. "I didn't mind giving him the occasional calf skull, cow skull, or maybe a horse skull now and then, but how many skulls does a boy need? A full day does not go by before I see your son banging on my door. It's not natural, I tell you." And so, in an effort to assuage his parents, his little obsession became clandestine, but in secret, it kept pace with his other love. Magic. As he became adept, his collection grew. What he didn't have, he yearned for. He managed to acquire a displacer beast skull, a dire tiger skull with all the teeth intact, now that was a beauty. And of course now his little hobby was hidden from plain sight, the boundaries of decency began to waver. The village was hit with disease. Some of the children died. It was perhaps just as well that no one had reason to exhume any of those little graves. If they had, they would have discovered that some of those tiny, pathetic little corpses were missing their heads. The downward spiral toward true madness came not long after. As if disease wasn't bad enough, one blissfully sunny afternoon the villagers were raided by a roaring, slaughtering party of orc marauders. Magic kept him alive. It enabled him to strike, it enabled him to hide. But when it was all over, only he and a handful of others were alive to tell the tale, and by the time night fell, only he was left, the others seeking shelter and safety elsewhere. In a daze, he wandered. He had his good axe in his hand, the sharp, heavy one that was well balanced, and he put it to use. He hacked off the heads of the dead enemy, especially his own, personal kills. Once that was done he started on the villagers. Then he piled up their heads and let the bugs chew on them and eat them clean. So now he had orc skulls, human skulls, dwarf skulls, his parent's skulls... that he perched on his pillow and talked to of a night, before he went to sleep. The following years were not kind, and madness, a jealous lover at best, got a good grip of him. It inspired him and tore at him. Good and evil ceased to be. Hunger became everything. His magic skills were never enough. His skulls, though a great comfort in some respects -- were never enough. His obsessions were in full control. Life was nothing. He killed others. He even killed himself. And then along came a tiny little girl, such a sweet thing, who showed him wonders he could only have dreamed about before. Her magic was different, older. Together they worked. Together they found a way to keep the soul trapped inside it's own skull. Suddenly his collection came alive! They could howl, and sing, they could engage in conversation. He could teach them things! It was everything he'd hoped for. And that girl, Fidelia her name was, she could give him more. More skulls than he'd ever dreamed of -- monster skulls, a dragon skull! Oh, how he loved that girl.

Description:

The aliases that he's known by are, The Deep One, The Bone Mage, The Unstable One and The Collector. (Alaises are mostly used by orcs and goblins) He is a cleric of Marteaus and a generalized wizard who focused on necromancy. He fancies himself a great necromancer and is the holder of the Screaming Staff, a relic of great power. The Keeper has nearly all the known arcane spells in his stockpile, not to mention a few of his own devise. He has access to all necromantic, evocation, transmutation, enchantment, and abjuration spells, but takes offense to those tricksters and charlatans who use Illusions to their advantage, therefore has not chosen to learn any trickery. The Keeper has also utilized the power of Enchantment and Divination to his advantage, taking control of victims from afar. He also owns many rare tomes, which include spell books of those lesser casters who wander to deep into the Catacombs. He has many wands, scrolls and staffs stored away in his lab and library. The Keeper has a skull fetish, rarely creating full sized undead creatures. In his inner sanctum, he has stacked and polished many of his prized rare skulls, such as the skull of a silver dragon. He kills those who are stupid enough who enter deep enough into his Catacombs to meet the lich face to face, so there is an ample supply of corpses to choose from. He avoids direct combat and prefers that his skulls do all the work. When push comes to shove, he teleports away. The Skull Keeper is arrogant and powerful, however, is devoted to Fidelia. The Keeper does not honor his former heritage as a dwarf and considers the dwarven culture diluted and in decline. He considers undead superior to the living in all respects. His motto is, "Flesh is a momentary shackle. Bones are forever." The Skull Keeper has a business relationship with the Huntsman, who supplies skulls and the occasional rare trinket to the lich. The lich stores and protects a Clone of the Huntsman for future use, should the Huntsman die in an unfortunate incident. (The clone is a closely guarded secret.) They deal only with each other since the Keeper has killed the Huntsman's minions on more than one occasion. Neither fear one another, because they further each others cause and they both work for and revere the Dark Lady. The Skull Keeper's Phylactery, which resembles a sapphire necklace, remains in Fidelia's possession within the inner sanctum of her castle. The Skull Keeper rarely leaves his Catacombs and wouldn't think to leave them and his beloved skulls in the hands of the few incompetent minions in his service. He has one or two intelligent troll mercenaries that serve him in a voluntary capacity, whom the Keeper watches constantly so that they don't betray him.

THE SCREAMING STAFF: A legend (by Jay B): It is said that the staff was created by the drow eons ago. This great artifact is eight feet long and wrapped in the tanned flesh of an ancient drow archmage and topped with his mummified screaming skull. The archmage gave up his own life to bring this evil creation into being. The Screaming Staff (currently in the possession of the Skull Keeper) is said to hold great power, therefore makes it sought after within the Realm by heroes and villains alike. Heroes seek it to destroy the skulls that plague the realm and villains seek it for greed, power and domination. The power this relic holds is to imbue it's possessor with the ability to control and create the skulls that give the Skull Catacombs their name. Many people believe the staff is intelligent and many even say the spirit of the archmage whose skull tops the staff, fights everyday to leave the artifact, moaning and crying to be free. The Screaming Staff: The details - The staff itself is a +5/+5 Unholy Quarterstaff (both halves are enchanted). When a target is hit with the skull side of the staff, they make a fort save DC 30 or die instantly. The staff continuously moans, causing any creature within 60ft and with fewer than 10HD to become panicked (no save). The staff radiates evil. The staff can't be detected by any form of divination or scrying and is immune to sonic spells (such as shatter) and spells targeting wood. The staff creates a mobile unhallow effect (the 'center' is the staff itself). The following spells are tied to the unhallow; invisibility purge, dimensional anchor and protection from energy (fire). The Holder/Possessor of the Screaming Staff: The possessor of the staff can use the following effects: --If the possessor of the staff is of evil alignment, he gains +2 caster level when casting evil and necromancy spells (divine or arcane). If the spell has both descriptors, the levels don't stack. --If the possessor of the staff is of good alignment, he gains four negative levels while in possession of the staff (only giving up the staff or dying removes the negative levels). If the possessor is a paladin, the paladin gains eight negative levels. --If the possessor has cleric levels, he gains four turn/rebuke attempts a day. --The possessor is immune to death effects and all drains. --The possessor of the staff is immune to the skull's effects and their attacks. However, the possessor is only immune to the attacks and effects of undead/skulls created by the Screaming Staff. --The possessor of the staff can animate dead, as the spell (without material components), at will. This can create skulls, whose stats are equal to the creature created, skeleton or zombie. --The possessor can also Create Undead and Create Greater Undead (without material components), each three times a day and can be used to create the skulls, whose stats are equal to the creature created, ghoul, ghast, mummy, mohrg, shadow, wraith, spectre, or devourer.

THE SKULLS:

The skulls statistics are equal to its monster entry in the Monster Manual, with the following exceptions: (Example; a skull with mummy stats, etc)

• All melee, ranged, unarmed and weapon attacks are considered bite or slam attacks, whichever is better.
• All skills requiring physical action are lost to the skulls (Example, balance, swim, climb, etc).
• If any undead has a weapon related feat, such as Weapon Focus (club), it switches to either bite or slam.
• All skulls have a Scream attack, which is mind effecting. This 30ft cone deals 1d4 sonic damage per skull HD (example; skull created using the mohrg stats(14HD) would have a Scream attack of 14d4), no save for damage. The scream also has a secondary paralyzing effect, a Will save DC equal to the creatures number of HD +5 (save to negate).
• All skulls have a fly speed of 30 ft (perfect).
• All skulls are immune to air based spells, such as Gust of Wind.
• Some skulls possess other uncommon abilities. (DM's make these up as they go.)
• All skulls are unable to use armor, shields or weapons.
• Skulls can cast spells without using somatic components.
• One in twenty skulls (5%) is an anomaly. The anomaly is a skull that isn't quite what the creator expects. (This leaves it open for storylines and DM magic. Example; rogue skulls, good skulls etc) These anomalies allow for undead not allowed under Animate Dead, Create Undead, or Create Greater Undead spells (such as vampires, nightshades, etc), provided the HD of the creature doesn't exceed that of the possessor of the staff.

LICH STATS:

Name: Skull Keeper Age: Unknown Race: dwarf lich (augmented humanoid) Alignment: Neutral Evil Height: Unknown (medium) Weight: Unknown Campaign: Koshe Marr Base Speed: 20 feet Class(Level): wizard/cleric/mystic theurge(5w/5c/10mt) Hit Points (HD): 200 (22d12) CR: base creature +2 AL: base creature +4 S: 16 +3 (16) D: 15 +2 (14*) C: -- I: 28 +9 (20***i) W: 30 +10 (18*i@) Ch: 18 +4 (12@) '*' level adjustment, '@' magic items, 'i' inherent Armor Class: 27 (+5Nat, +2Dex, +5Armor, +5RoP) [Touch AC , Flat Footed ][+4 dodge AC vs. giants]

Saving Throws: +2 save vs. poison, spells and spell-like abilities. Fortitude: +16 (base: C+4,W+1,MT+3 Con(Cha): +4)[+4] Reflex: +11 (base: C+1,W+1,MT+3 Dex: +2)[+4] Will: +29 (base: C+4,W+4,MT+7 Wis: +10)[+4] Note: SR 18, Immune to cold, electricity, polymorph, and mind effecting attacks, undead traits, immune to the skull's effects,

Base Combat Attack by Class: C+3--W+2--MT+5 Base (Grapple): +10(+13) Melee Total: +13 Ranged Total: +12 Weapons: Note: +1 attack vs. orcs and goblins. 1) Screaming Staff melee +18 [plus unholy enchantment](see staff for details)

Character Feats: 1. Extend Spell (W1) Scribe Scroll (W1) Summon Familiar (none) 3. Extra Turning (W5) Spell Mastery - six spells of 3rd level or lower 6. Widen Spell 9. Craft Wand 12. Maximize Spell 15. Craft Staff 18. Quicken Spell 21. Spell Penetration - +2 versus spell resistance

Cleric Features: Domains of Marteaus: Destruction, Evil command/rebuke undead 15/day (+4 turning checks against undead) Mystic Theurge Features: +1 level of existing arcane and divine spell casting classes.

Skill Name: (skill points by class, W2+int/C2+int/MT2+int)(ranksmax25) Lich: Hide, Listen, Move Silently, Search, Sense Motive, Spot +8 Dwarven: +2 appraisal and craft when working with stone and metals Appraisal -- +9 =9 (+2 special) Concentration 23 +4(Cha) =27 Craft (alchemy) 13 +9 =22 (+2 special) Decipher Script 22 +9 =31 Diplomacy -- +4 +2 =6 Heal 5 +10 =15 Hide -- +2 +8 =10 Intimidate -- +4 =4 Knowledge (dungeoneering) 3 +9 =12 Knowledge (arcana) 23 +9 =32 Knowledge (history) 1 +9 =10 Knowledge (the planes) 11 +9 =20 Knowledge (religion) 23 +9 =32 Listen -- +10 +8 =18 Move Silently -- +2 +8 =10 Search -- +9 +8 =17 (stonecunning) Sense Motive 21 +10 +8 =39 Spellcraft 23 +9 +2 =34 Spot -- +10 +8 =18 Languages: Common, Dwarven, Undercommon, Draconic, Infernal, Ignan

Note: Clerics receive one domain spell at each spell level. Domain: +1 caster level when casting evil spells. Staff: +2 caster level when casting evil and necromancy spells. Spell Penetration: +4 to over SR. Cleric - 15th level caster 0 1st 2nd 3rd 4th 5th 6th 7th 8th Prepared Spells(dc20+spell) 6 8 8 7 6 6 5 3 2 Wizard - 15th level caster 0 1st 2nd 3rd 4th 5th 6th 7th 8th Spells per day(dc19+spell) 4 7 6 6 10 6 4 3 2

The possessor of the staff can animate dead at will, and cast create undead and create greater undead each three times a day. Dwarven Traits: Darkvision 60ft; Stonecunning; Weapon Familiarity; Stability; +2 save vs. poison, spells and spell-like abilities; +1 attack vs. orcs and goblins; +4 dodge AC vs. giants; +2 appraisal and craft when working with stone and metals Lich Qualities: Immunity to cold, electricity, polymorph, and mind effecting attacks, DR 15/bludgeoning and magic (natural attacks used by lich are considered magical), turn resistance +4 Special Attacks(DC 10 + lich hd + cha): DC 26 Paralyzing touch (Su), Fear Aura (Su) Undead Traits: Darkvision 60 feet; Does not breathe, eat or sleep Immune to mind-affecting effects, poisons, sleep effects, paralysis, stunning, disease, death effects, not subject to critical hits, non lethal damage, ability drain, or energy drain; Immune to physical drains (Str, Dex, Con), fatigue and exhaustion, anything requiring a Fortitude save, Proficient in natural or simple weapons and armor proficient by its base creature List of Items: Phylactery (4800xp, 120000gp, tiny, 40hps, 20 hardness, DC break 40)[The Phylactery remains in Fidelia's possession within the inner sanctum of her castle.] The Screaming Staff (Major Artifact), Ring of Protection +5, Ring of Wizardry IV, Robe of the Arch magi (black), Cloak of Charisma +6, Periapt of Wisdom +6, Tome of Clear Thought +5(used), Tome of Understanding +5(used), Boccob's Blessed Books [his main spell books], Owns many wands, scrolls and staffs.

THE ENFORCER: **(Needs relationship and link to Fidelia)** (Needs stats)

Amalee is one of Fidelia's enforcers. She is undeniably loyal to Fidelia. She looks at Fidelia as not only her lord and master but more importantly, her mother and only friend.

Her pack is to her what she is to Fidelia. Loyal.

Rebuffing her command or failure to do her will results in immediate retribution. In the blink of an eye the pack member is killed. 1 swift attack by her and the creature is lieing on the ground in a pool of her blood.

There are 20 members of her pack, 10 of which are feral. They have lost their identity as the creatures they were born to. 6 are on the verge of becoming feral and 4 who have retained their identity. They are her spies in the cities. 1 is a butcher's wife, 1 is a tavern owner, 1 is a guard in the town watch and 1 is a farmer's wife. Not all in the same town or village, but close enough to be helpful to Amalee.

Amalee has the ability to become werewolf at will, day or night, full moon or full sun. She has no restrictions in that part.

Amalee has a telepathic bond to her pack, Fidelia, and her wolf friends in her domain. With the wolf friends, that's limited to 1 mile. Her pack is unlimited in her Domain and to Fidelia, just plain unlimited.

Amalee is cunning and very very Smart. When given a job to do she is meticulous. She will aquire any and all info for her job to succeed and spend many days without sleep setting up the perfect action. Amalee enjoys the hunt of human prey the most. Toying with them like a cat does a mouse. Even torturing them til the enjoyment fades, then she lets the rest of pack finish the poor, unfortunate creature. Next to Fidelia and the Huntsman she is the epitome of pure, unbridled evil. Even the trolls, orcs and other denizens of Fidelia's work force fear Amalee and her pack.

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Contributors (so far): Jan Holden (overall concept, storyline), Jerry Phelps (overall concept, storyline), Jay Barber (NPCs, locations), Carl White (the journal of Roderigo Montoya), Mike Knotts (flora and fauna), Tim Wybiral (NPCs, locations), Drew Gerken (locations), Donna LaPlante (NPCs).