JollyDoc's Age of Worms (Updated 11/30, Epilogue!)
- Thread starter gfunk
- Start date
Zaruthustran
The tingling means it’s working!
gfunk said:
A mere nightstand? Do you not know that the nightstand is the most dangerous of furniture?
http://elothtes.pbwiki.com/Nightstand
http://www.penny-arcade.com/comic/2006/05/26 (that's from a story arc started here: http://www.penny-arcade.com/comic/2006/05/19, or more specifically, here: http://www.penny-arcade.com/comic/2005/11/07)
Neverwinter Knight
First Post
Your updates are worth waiting for, JollyDoc!
(Not that we like doing it, though...![:]](http://www.enworld.org/forum/images/smilies/devious.png "Devious :]")
)
(Not that we like doing it, though...
)
JollyDoc
Explorer
BE OUR GUEST
“Our numbers may be dwindling, my friends,” Giovanni said to his four remaining companions, “but never fear. I am nothing if not resourceful.” The warlock swept open his cloak, where no fewer than two dozen rolls of parchment lay tucked into small sleeves. Picking one, seemingly at random, he unfurled it and began to read. As the words faded from the scroll, a shimmer appeared in the air. It began to swirl and widen until a large rip in the fabric of reality hummed before them. Blinding white light poured from it.
“Come, Lord of Angels,” Giovanni intoned. “I have need of your service, and offer you service in kind.” Music seemed to swell from the portal, the beautiful mingled voices of a heavenly choir. As it faded, the sounds of battle, steel on steel, echoed in the distance. Suddenly, a large being stepped through the Gate. He was, quite simply, perfect in every way. His golden skin shown like a crown, and his white, feathery wings were free of any stain. He wore a simple robe, but a gleaming, razor-edged sword was gripped in one hand, black blood dripping from it.
“I am Augustine,” the angel intoned, his voice at once melodic and hard as iron. “Why have you called me from the field of battle?”
“My lord,” Giovanni said, kneeling, “these dark times require the most desperate of measures. I have called you to this plane to beg you for assistance in our struggle against the coming Age of Worms. Kyuss is going to return to our world, and with his rebirth will come the death of untold millions. We five are all that remain of those who can stop the Worm Lord and his minions from invoking the coming slaughter. But we cannot succeed alone. The foe between us and an end to the threat is the mighty dracolich Dragotha, a Wyrm of Legend. It is through Dragotha that we believe Kyuss will be restored to power. We have destroyed the dracolich’s phylactery, and now all that remains is to destroy his physical form. Join us in our fight to save Faerun. Several days may be required to find and defeat our enemy. Before you I have placed a sum of two-thousand pieces of platinum, more than the normal fee for the services of one of your power. I ask that you travel with us as our companion, our defender, and our angelic sword, for no more than the next two tendays. Once Dragotha has been laid to rest and we are certain that the Age of Worms has been stopped, our contract will end, and you may return to the Heavens knowing that your efforts helped save millions of mortals.”
The solar considered the warlock’s words for several long moments before speaking again. “I am no mortal’s lackey or hired sword. You speak of world-altering events on your home plane, but know that there are many such variations of planes, and the hosts of Celestia cannot be concerned with the needs of the few. However, your plea has touched me, and I offer you this bargain. I will accept your token, and in exchange, you may speak my name once, and only once. At that time, wherever you may be, on this plane or another, I will hear, and I will come to you, and I will stand with you against any foe.” The angel gestured and the platinum coins disappeared. Without a backwards glance, he returned through the Gate from which he’d come, closing the portal with a loud ‘pop.’
“Be wary of the bargains that you make,” Faust said in a low voice. “The lines between angel and devil sometimes blur when such powerful forces meddle in the affairs of mortals.”
________________________________________________________
Faust still felt the purse pulling him south and east. Weary of slogging through the endless miles of the fissure, he requested for Giovanni to again provide swift aerial transport. Before Grubber could protest, the psion assured him that as soon as they reached their goal, Hawk would come back for him. Grubber wasn’t pleased, but was outvoted, and so was forced to await his companions outside the Apostle’s cave.
Moving on a blowing zephyr, the companions followed the path chosen for them by Faust, finally reaching a towering mesa in a matter of minutes, but having covered a distance of several miles. To the top of the mesa they continued, climbing some two-thousand feet above the rift floor. There, on its far eastern edge, was a strange, squat fortress made of red marble, its low walls smooth and polished. There were few sharp corners on the keep, giving it an almost organic look.
“This looks like the place,” Faust said as Havok dismissed the air walking spell. “Hawk, we’ll wait here while you go and fetch our land-locked friend.”
The civilar nodded and vanished with a touch to his helmet. Moments later, he reappeared, Grubber at his side, and the team set out towards the distant fortress.
As they formed up before a pair of lowered portcullises, the group could just make out the details of a ruined courtyard beyond. On its far side stood the main keep, its twin entrances similarly barred. A pair of narrow arrow slits gazed darkly from the walls on either side of the entryways. Faust and Havok had assumed their usual defensive forms, the former’s body clad in wispy shadows, and the latter invisible. Both of them were positioned, however, so that they could see the far corners of the courtyard through the gates, and so it was they who first noticed the watch dogs. The pair of creatures was monstrous, fully thirty feet or more in length. They had four legs, and pincer tails, and they were red in coloration, deepening to a darker orange on their underbellies. They were vaguely draconic in shape, save that in place of heads, they had enormous central maws, each surrounded by a ring of eight snake-like heads. As they leaped to their feet, they let out rumbling, bone-shaking roars.
‘I know these creatures,’ Faust said through the mind-link he shared with each of his companions. ‘They’re called thessalhydras, named for the liche Thessalar, who has been credited with the creation of chuuls, owlbears, gricks, rust monsters, and mimics, along with various and sundry other aberrations. This just might prove very interesting.’
_____________________________________________________
Thessalar’s attention was drawn from his study of the enormous vat of protolife in the center of his lab. The din raised by his pets meant that he had guests. He detested guests. They interfered with his research, and were a general waste of time.
“It would seem our experiment will have to wait a bit longer,” he said to his colleagues. “I’ll see what they want and see them off, but just in case they prove to be the stubborn types, you two had best prepare yourselves.”
The two men nodded, and each one moved to one of the arrow slits as they began casting preparatory spells upon themselves.
_______________________________________________________
A spear of emerald, eldritch energy lanced through the nearest hydra as it charged the gate. Another deafening roar emanated from its jaws, followed by an obscene gurgling sound. Suddenly, the creature spat out a glob of bilious, steaming fluid between the bars of the portcullis. It struck Grubber full on, and the goliath immediately felt his skin begin to blister and burn. Worse yet, his armor and shield also began to pit and dissolve in places. Then, the priest felt an intense burning sensation upon his brow. Brushing his hand across his forehead, he knocked a melted, oozing mass of metal to the ground. As comprehension dawned on him, Grubber felt his gut tighten in knots. It was Zosiel’s headband. It was ruined!
Just then the second thessalhydra charged the gate, ramming its massive bulk straight into it. The bars groaned, but did not give, and the monster retreated a few steps, preparing for another run. At that moment, a figure appeared in the center of the courtyard. It was human in shape, but the bones protruding from beneath its stretched, parchment-like skin, and the twin green flames glowing in its hollow eye sockets identified it as anything but. It was garbed in the ancient ruins of once-fine robes, and a diadem sat upon its bald brow. Instantly the thessalhydras ceased their roars and bowed low before the liche.
“I am Thessalar,” the creature said in a raspy, yet powerful voice, “and this is my home. Why have you come here? You disturb my peace!”
“We have come seeking to forestall the coming Age of Worms,” Hawk replied stoically.
“And how would this concern me?” Thessalar demanded.
Faust eyed the liche with curiosity, and then closed his eyes. As he’d suspected, he could not detect the creature’s presence with his Touchsight. It was an illusion of some sort.
“We are here to kill you and then take everything you own,” the psion stated flatly. As one, his companions gaped at him in stunned silence. “Now, be gone!” A wave of mental null-magic emanated from élan, and as quickly as he had appeared, the liche vanished. Immediately, the hydras turned their attention back to their out-of-reach prey, and began bellowing once more.
“I grow bored of this,” Faust said, and in a whip-flash of blue light, the nearest beast howled like a whipped cure and curled into a ball on the ground, its ego crushed by the psychic attack.
“It was merely a projected image,” the psion said in explanation to the others. “The liche is in there somewhere, and I figured this would be the best way to flush him out.”
“You certainly have a unique way with people,” Havok said, rolling his eyes.
Since Faust had declared open war, the other members of the League had no choice but to follow. Havok quickly divided the courtyard in half with a crackling wall of green fire, catching both Thessalhydras in the midst of the conflagration. Spreading his wings, Mak leaped to the top of the wall, and then glided to the ground on the other side. Hawk was only seconds behind him, his winged boots carrying him aloft. As the goliath touched down near the hydra still capable of defending itself, the beast lashed out at him, but Mak easily evaded the clumsy attack. His own assault found its mark, however, slashing off two of the writhing, snake-like heads. The hydra began retreating slowly back, removing itself from the burning flames and placing the wall between itself and Mak. Suddenly, a second wall erupted behind the hydra, cutting off its line of withdrawal.
__________________________________________________________
“I told you they would not be duped by your diplomatic overtures,” Thessalar’s guest said. “They’re zealots! They are only capable of seeing their own narrow-minded point of view!”
“He’s right,” came a second voice from the shadows, “They cannot be reasoned with, at least most of them. The psion, however…He’s a wild card. When the time comes, I may be able to make him see the light.”
“Be that as it may,” Thessalar said with a dismissive wave. “I will not brook such insolence, especially not in my own home! If there are any survivors, you may do with them as you wish, but until then, I will spare no effort to destroy them!” With a gesture, the liche conjured a shimmering, rainbow-hued wall of pure energy at the far side of the lab, blocking the twin gates which were the only ways in. Then he walked casually over to a small, wooden table tucked into a far corner.
“This will do nicely,” he chuckled.
____________________________________________________________
Just as Grubber began scaling the outer wall, like some grotesque, hairless spider, he felt a tingle of magical energy behind him. Turning his head he saw a huge, purple-skinned giant standing not five feet from him. He was positive the behemoth had not been there a moment earlier. Hawk saw the giant appear as well, just as he reached the top of the wall. Mak seemed to have things with the hydra well in hand, and so the civilar leaped into the air again, and dove at the newest threat. The giant glanced up at the last second, but Hawk was already on him, slashing with Quaero at his unprotected head. Blood poured from the savage wounds inflicted by the blade, and the skin around the cuts was blistered and burned from the electricity coursing through the ancient sword. Throughout the devastating attack, the giant did not utter a sound, nor wince in pain. Even when two violent eldritch blasts from Havok scorched even more of his flesh, he remained stoic. Instead, he maintained his focus on Grubber, gesturing at the goliath almost casually. Grubber’s eyes went wide as he felt his precious magical defenses vanishing, one after the other. A Dispelling field! It was only then that the giant finally raised his huge sword. Two blows he struck, the second almost amputating the goliath’s leg at mid-thigh. Desperately Grubber clung to the wall, waiting for the next blow that would end his life.
“Why won’t you die?” Hawk cursed, whirling and chopping with Quaero again and again. His final blow severed the large strap muscle on the left side of the giant’s neck, and his head lolled limply in that direction. Soundlessly he collapsed, but as he did so, his body shimmered and changed. Lying on the ground at the base of the wall was a simple, wooden, table.
Mak continued to spar with the Thessalhydra, landing several blows while easily avoiding the creature’s counterattacks. Suddenly, the beast’s central maw opened wide and a gobbet of acidic mucous was spat out. Mak leaped aside, suffering only a glancing blow. At the same time, the hydra retreated several steps…backing directly into Havok’s second wall of flame. It screamed as the flames engulfed it completely, leaving nothing but a pile of ash where it had stood.
Faust felt his Mindlink with Grubber wink out the moment the giant’s spell had gone off, and he knew from Hawk what had transpired. He smiled to himself as he made his way around the far right side of the fortress, knowing that the goliath would never live this down, especially not with Mak. The psion finally reached a narrow arrow slit and peered cautiously into an empty room beyond. A door stood closed on the far wall.
‘Time to crash this party,’ he announced to the others through the mental link. Concentrating, he sent a thin, green beam of energy lancing through the window, striking the wall and door beyond. Instantly, they vanished, disintegrated into a pile of fine rubble. Beyond, he saw several things at once. First, in the center of a large laboratory of some sort, stood a large cylinder, ten feet in diameter, and reaching all the way from floor to ceiling. Within, blood, flesh, eyes, mouths and less identifiable organs churned and swirled in a vortex of organic color. The gentle tug in his mind suddenly intensified. Nearer to hand, standing just on the other side of the vanished wall, was a tall, gaunt creature. Where its abdomen should have been, instead was held the twisted form of a small humanoid, trapped in the creature’s rib cage. It was a devourer. Faust had heard of the undead creatures before. They fed on the life force of those they killed, using it to channel their own magical abilities. It turned towards him, and the imprisoned homunculus pointed one stubby finger at him. An emerald ray streaked towards him, but he managed to duck behind the cover of the wall before it struck.
_________________________________________________________
“Ah, our guests have arrived,” Thessalar hissed as the far wall of the lab disappeared. His companion’s minion was already taking the offensive.
“Why don’t we let them have some time alone together?” he chuckled, creating an invisible wall of pure force directly behind the devourer, sealing it inside the guard chamber with whomever had been stupid enough to try and enter.
__________________________________________________________
‘Jackpot!’ Faust crowed through the Mindlink. ‘If the rest of you aren’t to busy, would you care to join me?’
Grubber did not hear the psion’s words, as he quickly called upon Grumbar to mend his wounds before he lost consciousness. As the soothing balm of the spell washed over him, Hawk tapped him on the shoulder.
“Are you ok?” the civilar asked.
“Now I am,” the priest replied, glaring evilly at the inert table on the ground below.
“Good,” nodded Hawk. “Faust needs us.”
Mak had just delivered a coup de grace to the helpless thessalhydra Faust had mentally devastated when he heard the psion’s call. He flew from the courtyard, to the roof above where his comrade stood, watching Hawk and Grubber’s approach. He had to put a hand discreetly over his mouth to keep from laughing out loud as his brother walked past him, eyes never meeting his.
Havok had his own plan. ‘I’ll meet you inside,’ he told the others. ‘Just give me the word.’ Clutching his staff, he spoke its command word, transforming his body into the ethereal form of a ghost. Then, he whisked himself between dimensions, appearing just beneath the ground below a second arrow slit of the main keep.
Faust joined Grubber, Mak and Hawk on the roof, walking up the wall as if it were horizontal ground in his shadowy form.
“Whenever you’re ready, I’ll make a hole,” he said. Hawk nodded, gripping Quaero tightly, and readying his shield. Again Faust concentrated, and another disintegration beam pierced the roof at his feet, opening a ten-foot wide hole into the chamber below. Not hesitating, the psion dropped down. The large room was indeed some sort of research workroom, with most of the wall space covered by shelves filled with all sorts of alchemical apparatus. It was then that Faust noticed the two figures standing nearby, one of them invisible, just in front of the large vat he had seen earlier. Recognition dawned on him instantly, and the barest hint of a smile touched his lips.
“Filge and Moreto,” he said, nodding to the necromancer and the ghoul noble, while simultaneously transmitting everything he saw to his comrades.
“I told you we would meet again,” Moreto said, smiling as well. “It doesn’t have to be as enemies, you know? Our agenda does not necessarily conflict with your own. Leave now, I beg you, or I cannot be held responsible for your fates at Thessalar’s hands.”
“Bah!” spat the disembodied voice of Filge. “I told you they were zealots! They won’t be satisfied by anything save bloodshed! They are uncouth simpletons, always leading with their swords instead of their heads!”
“I’m afraid I’m going to have to agree with Master Filge,” Thessalar’s voice came from the far side of the room. Faust felt the tell-tale tingle of magic around him, as he was suddenly encased in a cage of force.
“You shouldn’t have done that,” he said, wagging his finger. “Now you’ve just gone and made everyone mad.”
Havok’s insubstantial form abruptly stepped from the wall. A scroll was already in the warlock’s hand, and as he unfurled it, time stopped. He quickly took note of the positions of both his enemies and his allies. Filge and Thessalar stood in relative proximity to each other. It was around them that he wove an area of silence, utilizing a second scroll. Quickly, he conjured two interlocking walls of putrid, green flame, catching the liche at their intersection. The last thing he did before time’s flow resumed, was to conjure a nest of waving, tentacular worms in the same area where he had placed the silenced zone. Between one eye blink and another, Thessalar was seized by one of the hawser-sized tentacles. The strange, worm-ridden flames seared him, but did not inflict near the damage they might have, due to the his own wards. Nevertheless, he was trapped, unable to bring his magic to bear.
Hawk was in motion as soon as he saw Havok’s handiwork. He dove through the hole, and into the waving tentacles, ignoring the bone-chilling cold that emanated from them. He stabbed once at the entangled liche, wishing only that he could hear the horrid creature’s screams.
Effortlessly, Faust disintegrated the walls of his prison, stepping casually towards Thessalar. The smile never leaving his lips, he then opened a mental conduit between the liche and the Positive Energy plane, filling the undead wizard with the life-giving energy that was anathema to his kind.
Filge moved easily through the tentacle field. Moreto had warned him long ago of the tactics of the League, and he had prepared himself accordingly. He stepped just to the edge of the zone of silence, and then turned back towards the paladin menacing Thessalar. Drawing upon the innate dark magic imbued upon him with his ever-deepening immersion in necromancy, he wove a spell around the civilar, using only his mind. Hawk had felt the sensation before: moisture being drawn from his body, his mouth and eyes going dry, the sweat evaporating from his skin.
Moreto knew the League, and he knew that if he and Filge were to have any chance at all, they would need Thessalar’s help. The true ghoul therefore concentrated his efforts on the magic binding the liche. He wove a dispelling field through the area, causing one of the flaming walls to be snuffed out. Sound also returned, and with it, Thessalar’s ability to cast spells. The liche struggled to put the pain from the flames and the crushing strength of the tentacles out of his head. He spoke a single arcane word, expecting to be instantly whisked free of his predicament. Nothing happened.
“Time’s up,” Grubber said as he dropped into the room. He stretched both hands out and then brought them together with a loud smack. A screen of whirling, slashing blades appeared out of thin air, tearing through Thessalar. The wizard wailed, his cries disappearing as if down a deep hole as his body crumbled.
“I’m sorry old friend,” Moreto called to Filge, “but this is where we part company.” The ghoul lord leaped into the air, flying through the hole in the ceiling.
“I’m on him!” Mak called from above, spreading his wings and taking off in pursuit. Below, Filge, still invisible, scowled. He hadn’t expected any better. After all, it was what he would have done had the roles been reversed. Ah well, he thought, perhaps now he would be able to pierce that final veil and see death from the other side…but not without a fight. At that moment, the cursed warlock hurled a blast of eldritch power at him. Filge rocked back as a second forest of tentacles erupted around him. Fool, he thought, as he walked casually out of the trap…and came face to face with Faust.
“Quite the defensive arsenal you’ve provided for yourself,” Faust said. “Let’s see if we can’t do something about that!” The psion dropped a dispelling net directly on top of the necromancer, but as he did so, a ring flashed on Filge’s hand. Incredibly, Faust felt his own spell turned back upon him. Fortunately, he had fully expected such a spell to at some point be targeted on him, and his own defenses dissipated it easily.
“Can you do that twice?” he smirked. The look on Filge’s face was all the answer the élan needed.
“Game over,” Havok muttered, as a blast of acidic power streaked from his hand and enveloped the necromancer. Skeletal remains were all that hit the floor.
Moreto had also rendered himself invisible, but Mak’s prescience had caused him to request Helm to gift him with the blind sight of a bat. Thus he homed in on the fleeing ghoul easily. As he flew, the goliath spoke another prayer to his god. Four streamers of red ribbon shot from his fingers, surrounding Moreto. The ghoul was brought to an abrupt halt.
“Surrender,” Mak said as he closed in. “There is nowhere else for you to go.” In response, Moreto unleashed a titanic blast of electricity at the goliath, but the moment he did so, the red streamers struck at him, whip-like. To Mak’s amazement, none of them found their mark. Though he could see the ghoul, he realized that the ribbons could not. Cursing, he hefted his blade and rushed forward, slashing at Moreto and opening up several deep wounds, though not so much as a drop of blood spilled.
“Moreto!” a voice suddenly called from the roof of the keep. Both opponents turned as one and saw Faust standing there. “Filge is dead. Once again, I offer you clemency. You have my word of honor that if you tell me all that you have learned from the liche, I will spare you.”
“I have your vow?” Moreto asked.
“Absolutely,” the psion replied.
“What of your friends?” Moreto nodded towards Mak.
“As before,” Faust shrugged, “I do not speak for them, but come to me, and I will make good on my word.”
Moreto nodded and flew towards the élan, Mak’s mouth hanging open as he watched his prey go. Suddenly, a glittering, metallic form streaked from the hole behind Faust, shoving the psion to one side.
“Not this time,” Hawk said coldly as he slammed into Moreto with his shield. As the ghoul reeled from the impact, the civilar drove Quaero into what was once his living heart.
“Our numbers may be dwindling, my friends,” Giovanni said to his four remaining companions, “but never fear. I am nothing if not resourceful.” The warlock swept open his cloak, where no fewer than two dozen rolls of parchment lay tucked into small sleeves. Picking one, seemingly at random, he unfurled it and began to read. As the words faded from the scroll, a shimmer appeared in the air. It began to swirl and widen until a large rip in the fabric of reality hummed before them. Blinding white light poured from it.
“Come, Lord of Angels,” Giovanni intoned. “I have need of your service, and offer you service in kind.” Music seemed to swell from the portal, the beautiful mingled voices of a heavenly choir. As it faded, the sounds of battle, steel on steel, echoed in the distance. Suddenly, a large being stepped through the Gate. He was, quite simply, perfect in every way. His golden skin shown like a crown, and his white, feathery wings were free of any stain. He wore a simple robe, but a gleaming, razor-edged sword was gripped in one hand, black blood dripping from it.
“I am Augustine,” the angel intoned, his voice at once melodic and hard as iron. “Why have you called me from the field of battle?”
“My lord,” Giovanni said, kneeling, “these dark times require the most desperate of measures. I have called you to this plane to beg you for assistance in our struggle against the coming Age of Worms. Kyuss is going to return to our world, and with his rebirth will come the death of untold millions. We five are all that remain of those who can stop the Worm Lord and his minions from invoking the coming slaughter. But we cannot succeed alone. The foe between us and an end to the threat is the mighty dracolich Dragotha, a Wyrm of Legend. It is through Dragotha that we believe Kyuss will be restored to power. We have destroyed the dracolich’s phylactery, and now all that remains is to destroy his physical form. Join us in our fight to save Faerun. Several days may be required to find and defeat our enemy. Before you I have placed a sum of two-thousand pieces of platinum, more than the normal fee for the services of one of your power. I ask that you travel with us as our companion, our defender, and our angelic sword, for no more than the next two tendays. Once Dragotha has been laid to rest and we are certain that the Age of Worms has been stopped, our contract will end, and you may return to the Heavens knowing that your efforts helped save millions of mortals.”
The solar considered the warlock’s words for several long moments before speaking again. “I am no mortal’s lackey or hired sword. You speak of world-altering events on your home plane, but know that there are many such variations of planes, and the hosts of Celestia cannot be concerned with the needs of the few. However, your plea has touched me, and I offer you this bargain. I will accept your token, and in exchange, you may speak my name once, and only once. At that time, wherever you may be, on this plane or another, I will hear, and I will come to you, and I will stand with you against any foe.” The angel gestured and the platinum coins disappeared. Without a backwards glance, he returned through the Gate from which he’d come, closing the portal with a loud ‘pop.’
“Be wary of the bargains that you make,” Faust said in a low voice. “The lines between angel and devil sometimes blur when such powerful forces meddle in the affairs of mortals.”
________________________________________________________
Faust still felt the purse pulling him south and east. Weary of slogging through the endless miles of the fissure, he requested for Giovanni to again provide swift aerial transport. Before Grubber could protest, the psion assured him that as soon as they reached their goal, Hawk would come back for him. Grubber wasn’t pleased, but was outvoted, and so was forced to await his companions outside the Apostle’s cave.
Moving on a blowing zephyr, the companions followed the path chosen for them by Faust, finally reaching a towering mesa in a matter of minutes, but having covered a distance of several miles. To the top of the mesa they continued, climbing some two-thousand feet above the rift floor. There, on its far eastern edge, was a strange, squat fortress made of red marble, its low walls smooth and polished. There were few sharp corners on the keep, giving it an almost organic look.
“This looks like the place,” Faust said as Havok dismissed the air walking spell. “Hawk, we’ll wait here while you go and fetch our land-locked friend.”
The civilar nodded and vanished with a touch to his helmet. Moments later, he reappeared, Grubber at his side, and the team set out towards the distant fortress.
As they formed up before a pair of lowered portcullises, the group could just make out the details of a ruined courtyard beyond. On its far side stood the main keep, its twin entrances similarly barred. A pair of narrow arrow slits gazed darkly from the walls on either side of the entryways. Faust and Havok had assumed their usual defensive forms, the former’s body clad in wispy shadows, and the latter invisible. Both of them were positioned, however, so that they could see the far corners of the courtyard through the gates, and so it was they who first noticed the watch dogs. The pair of creatures was monstrous, fully thirty feet or more in length. They had four legs, and pincer tails, and they were red in coloration, deepening to a darker orange on their underbellies. They were vaguely draconic in shape, save that in place of heads, they had enormous central maws, each surrounded by a ring of eight snake-like heads. As they leaped to their feet, they let out rumbling, bone-shaking roars.
‘I know these creatures,’ Faust said through the mind-link he shared with each of his companions. ‘They’re called thessalhydras, named for the liche Thessalar, who has been credited with the creation of chuuls, owlbears, gricks, rust monsters, and mimics, along with various and sundry other aberrations. This just might prove very interesting.’
_____________________________________________________
Thessalar’s attention was drawn from his study of the enormous vat of protolife in the center of his lab. The din raised by his pets meant that he had guests. He detested guests. They interfered with his research, and were a general waste of time.
“It would seem our experiment will have to wait a bit longer,” he said to his colleagues. “I’ll see what they want and see them off, but just in case they prove to be the stubborn types, you two had best prepare yourselves.”
The two men nodded, and each one moved to one of the arrow slits as they began casting preparatory spells upon themselves.
_______________________________________________________
A spear of emerald, eldritch energy lanced through the nearest hydra as it charged the gate. Another deafening roar emanated from its jaws, followed by an obscene gurgling sound. Suddenly, the creature spat out a glob of bilious, steaming fluid between the bars of the portcullis. It struck Grubber full on, and the goliath immediately felt his skin begin to blister and burn. Worse yet, his armor and shield also began to pit and dissolve in places. Then, the priest felt an intense burning sensation upon his brow. Brushing his hand across his forehead, he knocked a melted, oozing mass of metal to the ground. As comprehension dawned on him, Grubber felt his gut tighten in knots. It was Zosiel’s headband. It was ruined!
Just then the second thessalhydra charged the gate, ramming its massive bulk straight into it. The bars groaned, but did not give, and the monster retreated a few steps, preparing for another run. At that moment, a figure appeared in the center of the courtyard. It was human in shape, but the bones protruding from beneath its stretched, parchment-like skin, and the twin green flames glowing in its hollow eye sockets identified it as anything but. It was garbed in the ancient ruins of once-fine robes, and a diadem sat upon its bald brow. Instantly the thessalhydras ceased their roars and bowed low before the liche.
“I am Thessalar,” the creature said in a raspy, yet powerful voice, “and this is my home. Why have you come here? You disturb my peace!”
“We have come seeking to forestall the coming Age of Worms,” Hawk replied stoically.
“And how would this concern me?” Thessalar demanded.
Faust eyed the liche with curiosity, and then closed his eyes. As he’d suspected, he could not detect the creature’s presence with his Touchsight. It was an illusion of some sort.
“We are here to kill you and then take everything you own,” the psion stated flatly. As one, his companions gaped at him in stunned silence. “Now, be gone!” A wave of mental null-magic emanated from élan, and as quickly as he had appeared, the liche vanished. Immediately, the hydras turned their attention back to their out-of-reach prey, and began bellowing once more.
“I grow bored of this,” Faust said, and in a whip-flash of blue light, the nearest beast howled like a whipped cure and curled into a ball on the ground, its ego crushed by the psychic attack.
“It was merely a projected image,” the psion said in explanation to the others. “The liche is in there somewhere, and I figured this would be the best way to flush him out.”
“You certainly have a unique way with people,” Havok said, rolling his eyes.
Since Faust had declared open war, the other members of the League had no choice but to follow. Havok quickly divided the courtyard in half with a crackling wall of green fire, catching both Thessalhydras in the midst of the conflagration. Spreading his wings, Mak leaped to the top of the wall, and then glided to the ground on the other side. Hawk was only seconds behind him, his winged boots carrying him aloft. As the goliath touched down near the hydra still capable of defending itself, the beast lashed out at him, but Mak easily evaded the clumsy attack. His own assault found its mark, however, slashing off two of the writhing, snake-like heads. The hydra began retreating slowly back, removing itself from the burning flames and placing the wall between itself and Mak. Suddenly, a second wall erupted behind the hydra, cutting off its line of withdrawal.
__________________________________________________________
“I told you they would not be duped by your diplomatic overtures,” Thessalar’s guest said. “They’re zealots! They are only capable of seeing their own narrow-minded point of view!”
“He’s right,” came a second voice from the shadows, “They cannot be reasoned with, at least most of them. The psion, however…He’s a wild card. When the time comes, I may be able to make him see the light.”
“Be that as it may,” Thessalar said with a dismissive wave. “I will not brook such insolence, especially not in my own home! If there are any survivors, you may do with them as you wish, but until then, I will spare no effort to destroy them!” With a gesture, the liche conjured a shimmering, rainbow-hued wall of pure energy at the far side of the lab, blocking the twin gates which were the only ways in. Then he walked casually over to a small, wooden table tucked into a far corner.
“This will do nicely,” he chuckled.
____________________________________________________________
Just as Grubber began scaling the outer wall, like some grotesque, hairless spider, he felt a tingle of magical energy behind him. Turning his head he saw a huge, purple-skinned giant standing not five feet from him. He was positive the behemoth had not been there a moment earlier. Hawk saw the giant appear as well, just as he reached the top of the wall. Mak seemed to have things with the hydra well in hand, and so the civilar leaped into the air again, and dove at the newest threat. The giant glanced up at the last second, but Hawk was already on him, slashing with Quaero at his unprotected head. Blood poured from the savage wounds inflicted by the blade, and the skin around the cuts was blistered and burned from the electricity coursing through the ancient sword. Throughout the devastating attack, the giant did not utter a sound, nor wince in pain. Even when two violent eldritch blasts from Havok scorched even more of his flesh, he remained stoic. Instead, he maintained his focus on Grubber, gesturing at the goliath almost casually. Grubber’s eyes went wide as he felt his precious magical defenses vanishing, one after the other. A Dispelling field! It was only then that the giant finally raised his huge sword. Two blows he struck, the second almost amputating the goliath’s leg at mid-thigh. Desperately Grubber clung to the wall, waiting for the next blow that would end his life.
“Why won’t you die?” Hawk cursed, whirling and chopping with Quaero again and again. His final blow severed the large strap muscle on the left side of the giant’s neck, and his head lolled limply in that direction. Soundlessly he collapsed, but as he did so, his body shimmered and changed. Lying on the ground at the base of the wall was a simple, wooden, table.
Mak continued to spar with the Thessalhydra, landing several blows while easily avoiding the creature’s counterattacks. Suddenly, the beast’s central maw opened wide and a gobbet of acidic mucous was spat out. Mak leaped aside, suffering only a glancing blow. At the same time, the hydra retreated several steps…backing directly into Havok’s second wall of flame. It screamed as the flames engulfed it completely, leaving nothing but a pile of ash where it had stood.
Faust felt his Mindlink with Grubber wink out the moment the giant’s spell had gone off, and he knew from Hawk what had transpired. He smiled to himself as he made his way around the far right side of the fortress, knowing that the goliath would never live this down, especially not with Mak. The psion finally reached a narrow arrow slit and peered cautiously into an empty room beyond. A door stood closed on the far wall.
‘Time to crash this party,’ he announced to the others through the mental link. Concentrating, he sent a thin, green beam of energy lancing through the window, striking the wall and door beyond. Instantly, they vanished, disintegrated into a pile of fine rubble. Beyond, he saw several things at once. First, in the center of a large laboratory of some sort, stood a large cylinder, ten feet in diameter, and reaching all the way from floor to ceiling. Within, blood, flesh, eyes, mouths and less identifiable organs churned and swirled in a vortex of organic color. The gentle tug in his mind suddenly intensified. Nearer to hand, standing just on the other side of the vanished wall, was a tall, gaunt creature. Where its abdomen should have been, instead was held the twisted form of a small humanoid, trapped in the creature’s rib cage. It was a devourer. Faust had heard of the undead creatures before. They fed on the life force of those they killed, using it to channel their own magical abilities. It turned towards him, and the imprisoned homunculus pointed one stubby finger at him. An emerald ray streaked towards him, but he managed to duck behind the cover of the wall before it struck.
_________________________________________________________
“Ah, our guests have arrived,” Thessalar hissed as the far wall of the lab disappeared. His companion’s minion was already taking the offensive.
“Why don’t we let them have some time alone together?” he chuckled, creating an invisible wall of pure force directly behind the devourer, sealing it inside the guard chamber with whomever had been stupid enough to try and enter.
__________________________________________________________
‘Jackpot!’ Faust crowed through the Mindlink. ‘If the rest of you aren’t to busy, would you care to join me?’
Grubber did not hear the psion’s words, as he quickly called upon Grumbar to mend his wounds before he lost consciousness. As the soothing balm of the spell washed over him, Hawk tapped him on the shoulder.
“Are you ok?” the civilar asked.
“Now I am,” the priest replied, glaring evilly at the inert table on the ground below.
“Good,” nodded Hawk. “Faust needs us.”
Mak had just delivered a coup de grace to the helpless thessalhydra Faust had mentally devastated when he heard the psion’s call. He flew from the courtyard, to the roof above where his comrade stood, watching Hawk and Grubber’s approach. He had to put a hand discreetly over his mouth to keep from laughing out loud as his brother walked past him, eyes never meeting his.
Havok had his own plan. ‘I’ll meet you inside,’ he told the others. ‘Just give me the word.’ Clutching his staff, he spoke its command word, transforming his body into the ethereal form of a ghost. Then, he whisked himself between dimensions, appearing just beneath the ground below a second arrow slit of the main keep.
Faust joined Grubber, Mak and Hawk on the roof, walking up the wall as if it were horizontal ground in his shadowy form.
“Whenever you’re ready, I’ll make a hole,” he said. Hawk nodded, gripping Quaero tightly, and readying his shield. Again Faust concentrated, and another disintegration beam pierced the roof at his feet, opening a ten-foot wide hole into the chamber below. Not hesitating, the psion dropped down. The large room was indeed some sort of research workroom, with most of the wall space covered by shelves filled with all sorts of alchemical apparatus. It was then that Faust noticed the two figures standing nearby, one of them invisible, just in front of the large vat he had seen earlier. Recognition dawned on him instantly, and the barest hint of a smile touched his lips.
“Filge and Moreto,” he said, nodding to the necromancer and the ghoul noble, while simultaneously transmitting everything he saw to his comrades.
“I told you we would meet again,” Moreto said, smiling as well. “It doesn’t have to be as enemies, you know? Our agenda does not necessarily conflict with your own. Leave now, I beg you, or I cannot be held responsible for your fates at Thessalar’s hands.”
“Bah!” spat the disembodied voice of Filge. “I told you they were zealots! They won’t be satisfied by anything save bloodshed! They are uncouth simpletons, always leading with their swords instead of their heads!”
“I’m afraid I’m going to have to agree with Master Filge,” Thessalar’s voice came from the far side of the room. Faust felt the tell-tale tingle of magic around him, as he was suddenly encased in a cage of force.
“You shouldn’t have done that,” he said, wagging his finger. “Now you’ve just gone and made everyone mad.”
Havok’s insubstantial form abruptly stepped from the wall. A scroll was already in the warlock’s hand, and as he unfurled it, time stopped. He quickly took note of the positions of both his enemies and his allies. Filge and Thessalar stood in relative proximity to each other. It was around them that he wove an area of silence, utilizing a second scroll. Quickly, he conjured two interlocking walls of putrid, green flame, catching the liche at their intersection. The last thing he did before time’s flow resumed, was to conjure a nest of waving, tentacular worms in the same area where he had placed the silenced zone. Between one eye blink and another, Thessalar was seized by one of the hawser-sized tentacles. The strange, worm-ridden flames seared him, but did not inflict near the damage they might have, due to the his own wards. Nevertheless, he was trapped, unable to bring his magic to bear.
Hawk was in motion as soon as he saw Havok’s handiwork. He dove through the hole, and into the waving tentacles, ignoring the bone-chilling cold that emanated from them. He stabbed once at the entangled liche, wishing only that he could hear the horrid creature’s screams.
Effortlessly, Faust disintegrated the walls of his prison, stepping casually towards Thessalar. The smile never leaving his lips, he then opened a mental conduit between the liche and the Positive Energy plane, filling the undead wizard with the life-giving energy that was anathema to his kind.
Filge moved easily through the tentacle field. Moreto had warned him long ago of the tactics of the League, and he had prepared himself accordingly. He stepped just to the edge of the zone of silence, and then turned back towards the paladin menacing Thessalar. Drawing upon the innate dark magic imbued upon him with his ever-deepening immersion in necromancy, he wove a spell around the civilar, using only his mind. Hawk had felt the sensation before: moisture being drawn from his body, his mouth and eyes going dry, the sweat evaporating from his skin.
Moreto knew the League, and he knew that if he and Filge were to have any chance at all, they would need Thessalar’s help. The true ghoul therefore concentrated his efforts on the magic binding the liche. He wove a dispelling field through the area, causing one of the flaming walls to be snuffed out. Sound also returned, and with it, Thessalar’s ability to cast spells. The liche struggled to put the pain from the flames and the crushing strength of the tentacles out of his head. He spoke a single arcane word, expecting to be instantly whisked free of his predicament. Nothing happened.
“Time’s up,” Grubber said as he dropped into the room. He stretched both hands out and then brought them together with a loud smack. A screen of whirling, slashing blades appeared out of thin air, tearing through Thessalar. The wizard wailed, his cries disappearing as if down a deep hole as his body crumbled.
“I’m sorry old friend,” Moreto called to Filge, “but this is where we part company.” The ghoul lord leaped into the air, flying through the hole in the ceiling.
“I’m on him!” Mak called from above, spreading his wings and taking off in pursuit. Below, Filge, still invisible, scowled. He hadn’t expected any better. After all, it was what he would have done had the roles been reversed. Ah well, he thought, perhaps now he would be able to pierce that final veil and see death from the other side…but not without a fight. At that moment, the cursed warlock hurled a blast of eldritch power at him. Filge rocked back as a second forest of tentacles erupted around him. Fool, he thought, as he walked casually out of the trap…and came face to face with Faust.
“Quite the defensive arsenal you’ve provided for yourself,” Faust said. “Let’s see if we can’t do something about that!” The psion dropped a dispelling net directly on top of the necromancer, but as he did so, a ring flashed on Filge’s hand. Incredibly, Faust felt his own spell turned back upon him. Fortunately, he had fully expected such a spell to at some point be targeted on him, and his own defenses dissipated it easily.
“Can you do that twice?” he smirked. The look on Filge’s face was all the answer the élan needed.
“Game over,” Havok muttered, as a blast of acidic power streaked from his hand and enveloped the necromancer. Skeletal remains were all that hit the floor.
Moreto had also rendered himself invisible, but Mak’s prescience had caused him to request Helm to gift him with the blind sight of a bat. Thus he homed in on the fleeing ghoul easily. As he flew, the goliath spoke another prayer to his god. Four streamers of red ribbon shot from his fingers, surrounding Moreto. The ghoul was brought to an abrupt halt.
“Surrender,” Mak said as he closed in. “There is nowhere else for you to go.” In response, Moreto unleashed a titanic blast of electricity at the goliath, but the moment he did so, the red streamers struck at him, whip-like. To Mak’s amazement, none of them found their mark. Though he could see the ghoul, he realized that the ribbons could not. Cursing, he hefted his blade and rushed forward, slashing at Moreto and opening up several deep wounds, though not so much as a drop of blood spilled.
“Moreto!” a voice suddenly called from the roof of the keep. Both opponents turned as one and saw Faust standing there. “Filge is dead. Once again, I offer you clemency. You have my word of honor that if you tell me all that you have learned from the liche, I will spare you.”
“I have your vow?” Moreto asked.
“Absolutely,” the psion replied.
“What of your friends?” Moreto nodded towards Mak.
“As before,” Faust shrugged, “I do not speak for them, but come to me, and I will make good on my word.”
Moreto nodded and flew towards the élan, Mak’s mouth hanging open as he watched his prey go. Suddenly, a glittering, metallic form streaked from the hole behind Faust, shoving the psion to one side.
“Not this time,” Hawk said coldly as he slammed into Moreto with his shield. As the ghoul reeled from the impact, the civilar drove Quaero into what was once his living heart.
demiurge1138
Inventor of Super-Toast
A few things:
1. Faust is always so tactful, isn't he?
2. Nice use of the recurring NPCs.
3. Polymorph any object now might be my new favorite spell.
4. What happened to the devourer? Once the party actually ran into Filge, Moreto and Thessalar, it was seemingly forgotten.
Demiurge out.
1. Faust is always so tactful, isn't he?
2. Nice use of the recurring NPCs.
3. Polymorph any object now might be my new favorite spell.
4. What happened to the devourer? Once the party actually ran into Filge, Moreto and Thessalar, it was seemingly forgotten.
Demiurge out.
JollyDoc
Explorer
demiurge1138 said:
1. Faust is definately the wild card of the group. You can always count on him to keep things interesting.
2. Thanks...we perhaps haven't seen the last of such folks
3. I KNOW it's mine! One eldritch giant with quickened Greater Dispel at your service.
4. Well, it was sort of locked in when Thessalar put up the Wall of Force. It's still in the fortress at the moment.
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