Hi all,

I previously posted some warts-and-all email summaries of the ‘Curse of Strahd’ campaign I ran in 2017-18, the ‘Tomb of Annihilation’ campaign I ran in 2018-19 and ‘Out of the Abyss’, a campaign I ran in 2020. CoS was the first campaign I sent summaries to players by email after each game (I was a bit lazy prior to that). Here’s another grand campaign that started out with a slightly warped version of ‘Lost Mine of Phandelver’, then rolled on to merge ‘Storm King’s Thunder’ and ‘Princes of the Apocalypse’ (it took the intrepid heroes to 20th level using experience points – yes, those antiquated things lol). Please note it was never called ‘Footfall’ in the beginning, as it was originally just going to be playing the Lost Mine, but I had some ideas along the way and the campaign grew as it went along in an ad hoc, improvised manner, adapting parts of Storm King’s and Princes to fill out the story. The main villain wasn’t even thought of until about three-quarters of the way through the 70-session campaign. Each session was approximately 5 hours (sometimes more) long. This campaign was also the first time I didn’t write all the summaries – some of the players were given that task and did so admirably! Most of the summaries appear here as they first appeared (with some edits). If you’re a D&D fan you may enjoy them. And maybe even if you aren’t.

Steve 🙂

Session 27 – The Pactian Chronicles

(This summary was written in the style of Robert E. Howard by the brilliant William N. Deluca, who is not only a great writer but a great guy! And possibly has too much time on his hands if he can come up with summaries like this lol. He played Fuzz the halfling rogue.)

“Know, oh prince, that between the years when the oceans drank Atlantis and the gleaming cities, and the years of the rise of the Sons of Aryas, there was an age undreamed of, when shining kingdoms lay spread across the world like blue mantles beneath the stars…  Hither came the Phandelver’s Pact to tread the jeweled thrones of earth under their leather-clad feet.” 

            – The Sword Coast Chronicles

Battered, bruised, scored by behirian breath and bile, four among the Pact emerged from the dreaded cavern where once dwelt Venomfang, avenged of their stolen valor and valuables, yet still void of their full complement.

But hark… doth hails a voice on the breeze – a familiar voice, the voice of a friend, sounding warning of savage beasts on the prowl.  And so with bellies engorged of lapine goodness compliments of Grigor, the party proceeded, wary of the barbaric hordes known to inhabit the Starmetal Hills and still more sinister threats lurking therein.

As fortune would have, they came upon a dwarven village by an azure lake and with good cheer gained entry and amity amongst the diminutive residents – for a round of drinks at the local tavern may oft suffice to win the hearts of the stout folk.  Hiring a guide to provide safe passage amongst the treacherous braes and glens, the heroes secured lodging for the night.  As the rest of the party settled down for a well-deserved slumber, Grigor followed the villagers down to the lake for their evening ritual – a fantastic display of celestial beauty, as heaven lay bare her infinite glories above the shining, but ephemeral mantles of mortality.

Now we leave the four to find the wayward one, divided by distance but united in mission.  After facing down not one, but two of the legendary chimerae of Neverwinter Wood, Aelfwyn reached the Long Road only to find a southbound caravan of two fire giants, accompanied by a cortege of scorch-faced humans and two columns of living flame mailed in the vestments of war – the rising smoke from Xantharl’s Keep a testament to their wicked deeds.  His owlish familiar snuffed back to the world of fey, Aelfwyn once again found himself in precarious straits, as a misfortunately-timed allergic malady betrayed his position to the colossal beings.  Exercising the valor inherent in discretion, Aelfwyn chanted those arcane verses that conceal the cantor from sight and flew away north to witness the scorched earth that once was Xantharl’s, where no living soul answered his call.

Alas, Donovan the dwarven guide proved little less than worthless, leading the remainder of the team directly into an ambush by the blue-faced barbarians of the Starmetal Hills.  Spears clashed with arrows, steel rang upon steel, sorcery brawled wizardry, all in a crimson-soaked battle to the death.  And indeed, Death hovered near the Pact that day.  Verendus, boldly holding the barbarians’ shaman to a stalemate, nearly paid the final price, while Grigor was twice hauled back from the abyss by his companions, shrugging off his near-demise to fight on for victory.  Fuzz darted and dashed about the battlefield, delivering the final blow to the savage spellcaster, while Kathra stood as a stone rampart against the horde’s onslaught.  Working once more as a single, lethal phalanx, the Pact triumphed.

As the party tended their wounds, Grigor heard a familiar elvish accent in his ear: “Xantharl Keep exterminated.  Caravan of fire giants heading to Longsaddle.  Be careful!”  While the party sped forth to defend the town, Aelfwyn contacted the priests of Oghma to entreat their aid in halting the giants’ advance.  The priests responded that they would consult Lord Neverember, Lord Protector of Neverwinter.  Knowing that immediate support was not forthcoming, Aelfwyn began the journey south to assist his companions in the presumptive battle to follow.

And most certainly would assistance be needed.  For the villagers, despite a heart-wrenching call-to-arms by Verendus, were barely convinced to flee for their lives, and none would raise arms in defense of their homes.  Once again, the Phandelver’s Pact would face overwhelming odds alone.  All they could do was scout the terrain, seek advantage, and prepare the battlefield – for retreat was not an option for those valiant defenders of the innocent.

Yet several curiosities remained.  Using the Rod of the Vonendod, no trace of adamantine could be detected in the region surrounding Longsaddle.  If that were true, why would the giants be headed there?  They had already recovered the piece buried further south in Triboar.  Had they missed something?  And how were they navigating if the Pact held the Rod?  Did some other power guide their search?

And who would dare ponder the consequence if the Phandelver’s Pact failed at the coming Battle of Longsaddle?

I keep telling Bill he needs to write more often. If you love what you read, check out his full-length story in issues 2 and 3 of FiveE Magazine, available for FREE at DrivethruRPG.