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 28 – The Pactian Chronicles

(This summary was written in the style of Robert E. Howard by the brilliant W. 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.)

When Titans to their schemes had rose,

            – from “Ballad of The Pact”

Shall I speak of valor?  Of courage?  Of the true face of heroes?  You’re not apt to recognize it at first glance.  I was but a child – little older than you – when first I witnessed the scarred, battered, rough-hewn visage of angels.

The autumnal leaves were in the early days of their lovely death-throes when the giants came.  Naïve were the good people of Longsaddle, who for too long had been blessed with uncanny sanctuary from the savages of the Starmetal and Surbrin Hills, and still more sinister horrors that stalk the forests of Neverwinter Wood.

It was from the North they came, crushing the age-old stone battlements of Xantharl’s Keep ‘neath their steel-plated buskins.  Were it not for the Phandelver’s Pact arriving scant a-day prior, we’d not have heeded the tremors what heralded the fire giants and their company of flame-worshipping diabolists, nor the blazing elemental terrors spew’n forth from the City of Brass itself.

When The Pact arrived heralding the danger that approached, the town-folk barely mustered will enough to abandon their homes and farmlands.  T’was only the stirring words of Verendus that finally swayed us to flee to safety ‘pon assisting The Pact in building defenses for the battle to come.

Verily had we heard tale of the Phandelver’s Pact – who more than once had staved off monstrous brigands, would-be conquerors, and eldritch evils from the phantasmal realms.  But surely these were not the mighty heroes for whom the ink of newly-penned ballads had yet begun to dry.  Near to a one this ragtag band seemed mere misfits and outcasts from the fringes of civilized gentry – opportunistic fortune-hunters perhaps, but not high-minded sentinels of honor and justice.

There was Verendus, embodiment of cold pragmatism, whose rousing, though forked tongue inspired in spite of his ghastly, Asmodean-echoed countenance.  And Grigor, the bold trooper, behind whose archer’s dead-eyes brewed a fury storm of loss and sadness.  Aelfwyn, paradox of an elfin wizard, seeking semblance of order even amidst the chaos wrought of his own deeds.  Fuzz the Halfling, fleet-footed and sly, with a mischievous twinkle to beguile the dim and the honest, but bristle the streetwise.  Perhaps only Kathra, that knight-errant whose rutted brow betrayed the weight of Atlas, held any semblance to the chivalric ideal of epic paeans.

Yet these were the men who stood before us, bloodied and broken from battles past, pledging to hold fast against the inexorable onslaught – and damned if we deserved better.

Sunrise of battle’s morn cast a rutilant blaze on the horizon, bathing the skies in an ill-omened nimbus.  Had my mother still lived surely she’d have called me away, but being my own keeper I paid a fool’s regard to the perils ahead, hiding amid the larger of two rocky barrows set side-by-side north of town, from which Grigor himself was perched to strike.

Well-set was The Pact’s trap, using the Halfling’s taunts to draw the giants’ company down the road ‘tween the two crags, where opposite my own, the other Pacters held back a tenuously suspended pile of boulders and ice slabs above the main roadway, set to rain down upon the unsuspecting invaders.  Barricades had been constructed beyond this point and a water pit dug and camouflaged to further slow their progress, with the intent of funneling the enemy into a corner from which death could be dealt from all vectors (unfortunately, it was Aelfwyn who inadvertently tested the water pit, arriving shortly before the giants to a dowsing reception which lightened the mood even as the battle loomed.)  Further had the routes east and west around the crags been water-pitted and mudded to discourage any wayward aggressors.  But alas, plans best laid are oft foiled by first contact with the enemy.

For the giants had split their numbers, anticipating the ambush.  One fire giant and one elemental each took the routes east and west of the Long Road with a number of their scorch-faced human acolytes in train, while the main force of human fire priests advanced more slowly down the central route.  And as the ground rumbled like an earthen war drum, the Phandelver’s Pact did their best to adapt tactics to the shifting threat.

First blood was drawn by Grigor at distance from one of the fire giants, followed by more, but his crossbow bolts did little to slow their progress.  Fuzz, playing the drunken fool (of which he clearly had much familiarity) lobbed jibes and crude innuendo at the approaching colossi, but the giants and their flaming hell-spawn would not take the bait.  And as the enemy forces descended to the field of combat, it was clear that the Pact would have to widen their front to hold back the assault.

So commenced the melee.  Grigor continued to draw ire, unleashing a relentless hailstorm of feathered shafts.  Fuzz engaged the enemy’s forces on the eastern path, luring the first elemental into steaming agony within the water pit.  The fire giant who followed fared no better and, as he clawed his way out of the pit, met with a well-placed arrow to his massive head.  Aelfwyn engaged the ground troops, inflicting severe blows to the giants’ retinue as he desperately held them at bay for Verendus’ and Kathra’s devastating ambuscade.

But as their casualties swelled, the invaders mounted an offense, scaling both barrows to engage their tormenters.  And as the forces drew within blade’s length, the Phandelver’s Pact began to feel the sting of battle.

I was nearly roasted alive as one of the elementals passed overhead while I scrambled down a rocky fissure to escape its sight.  I emerged to the sonorous bellow of a fire giant, warning the Pact to lay down their weapons lest an ally be slain.  I squinted between the boulders to witness a most heart-wrenching sight.  Grigor lay unconscious at the edge of the precipice, an armored beast of living fire astride his lifeless form.

The fighting ceased as all seemed lost.  But then I witnessed a most amazing feat of wonder and heroism.  In the blink of an eye, Kathra, leaving his post, plunged down the western escarpment, nimbly skirting the red-robed disciples, and rose again on Mercury’s feet up the face of the eastern crag.  The elemental could nary flash a hot-tempered glare before Grigor’s body was spirited to safety and revived by his comrade.

The battle turned again, the Phandelver’s Pact gaining stride.  Verendus abandoned the planned ambush, releasing the landslide and pulling up the barricades to block the main artery into Longsaddle.  He and Aelfwyn let loose a torrent of thaumaturgy upon their opponents, dispatching groups at a time with but a wave of their conjuring hands.  And as my eyes are my witness, I swear I saw a massive python twice appear from the ether to strangle life from the enemy’s soldiers.

Arrows flew at random from yonder tree line as Fuzz dashed amongst the boles and foliage, darting out to deal quick-bladed death, then sinking back to obscurity.  Kathra absorbed blows like a living barbican, while Grigor fought on with renewed fury in his eyes.

Steel sliced the air spilling entrails and limbs, as blood flowed like red wine along the verdant ground.  And all the while, flame danced in a ballet of burning fury, ‘till finally quenched by the valiant champions.  Ne’er did foe’s foot defile the ground within our town’s borders, but to flee our fierce guardians.

The Pact had fought a brilliant battle, but were themselves near expiry when still remained the two fire giants and a few relentless red-robes.  And that was when the most astonishing of astonishments occurred.

As Verendus’ finger drew a coruscating sigil in the empty air, suddenly appeared two enormous simians, dwarfing even the giants’ considerable statures.  The two apes pummeled the giants in a fearsome rage that terrified me even as they fought in our defense.  But with almost human-like wisdom, they spared one of the giants, knocking him cold for later interrogation.

And so had providence sent the Phandelver’s Pact to shield Longsaddle from the devastation wrought on so many less-fortunate hamlets.

Touch this earth upon which we sit, my grandson.  Breathe in the air that cascades down the bluffs to cool fair Longsaddle, as she still stands today.  Hear the birds joyous in springtime melody.  And know you this – that day were the birds silent, was the breeze a roasting zephyr to choke mortal lungs, and the earth resounded with the thrashing footfalls of war.

For those are the times that reveal men’s mettle, when the rational among us run for shelter, and cowards ne’er return.  But blessed be we for the warriors.  Those of will and sinew.  It is they that challenge the tempest, spit in Death’s eye, and cast their fates to the cruel whims of the heavens and the hells.  Know that their manners may be rough, their mirths oft’ abhorrent, and their motives less than gallant.

Yet judge not their etiquettes, but their acts.  And fear not their scars and sacrilege – though be wary of passing too proudly in their presence, lest your own honor be merited.

For this is the true face of heroes.  And when their own weary reflections gaze back through cracked mirrors, they’re not likely to recognize it themselves.

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.