IT AIN’T FANTASY ISLAND
Lashonna’s coordinates proved to be very precise, and it was a simple matter for Storm to transport the team first to Calimport, and then to the location where Tilagos was supposed to be. They found themselves on a beachhead, its sands littered with driftwood, and the splintered ruin of well over a hundred ships. These skeletal wrecks crowded the rocky shoreline, a veritable city of barnacle-claimed vessels peopled with dead sailors. Broken skeletons wrapped in threadbare rags hung out of yawning breaches in the ships’ hulls, and tattered sails whipped in the fierce wind sweeping the shoreline. One ship stood out from the weathered hulks…a recent victim of the wind and rocks, although a victim nonetheless. This gigantic sailing cog lay broken in two against a jagged rock on the eastern edge of the beach. Beyond the shore, the rocky beach angled up slightly to an ancient maze of ruined walls and standing stones.
Unsure of what they would find upon their arrival, the group had placed several preparatory magics and defenses about themselves. In Faust’s case, he had assumed his familiar stone giant form, and manifested Touchsight. With the latter, he was immediately able to discern the orcs hidden within the recent wreck, watching silently and unseen by the others.
‘We’re not alone,’ he said through their Mindlink, informing them of their watchers.
‘Don’t make any sudden movements,’ Hawk said. ‘I want to try this my way first.’
Aloud he called out, “We know you’re there! We have no wish to fight you! We seek to parley!” Silence reigned for a moment, and then a single orc stepped out of the wreckage. Dressed in sailor’s garb, he carried an axe in one hand and a clutch of javelins in the other.
“If you speak truth,” he replied in guttural Common, “then come and put away weapons.”
‘My way!’ Hawk said warningly through the link, already sensing Pavel’s agitation. Sheathing his sword, he started down the beach, Faust right behind him, looking ridiculous with his hands raised high above his head and his eyes tightly shut. Giovanni and Storm hung back, and Pavel did as well, though the dwarf made no move to stow his axes.
“How did you come here?” the orc asked as the pair approached. “Magic?”
“That’s not important,” Hawk answered. “We’re here seeking something. What of you and the rest of your crew? How did you come to be here?”
The orc gestured towards the wrecked ship as if the answer should be obvious.
“You should speak with the Captain,” he grunted.
“Where is he?” Hawk asked.
“Inside,” the orc replied. “Take you to him.”
Hawk hesitated. “I don’t think that would be such a good idea. My friends are a bit jittery, and I don’t trust them to keep our truce if I’m not here. Can he not come forward?”
The sailor pondered this for a moment, then shrugged and disappeared inside the broken hull. A few moments later, he returned.
“The Captain says you come in,” he said, “alone. All of us will come out until meeting done. That way, no tricks.”
Hawk nodded, “Agreed.” ‘Keep in touch,’ he said mentally to Faust. Stepping inside the cracked wall, he found himself in the ruined hold of the ship. Sitting on a crate was a large orc dressed in steel-studded leathers with a greataxe on his back and a large shield propped nearby.
“I am Senior Civilar Hawk Veritas,” the paladin said, stepping forward with his hand extended. The large orc stared at him for a moment, before slowly extending his own calloused hand.
“Grogriss Spit-Eye,” he said, “Captain of the Secret Hand.”
“What has befallen you and your crew, Captain?” Hawk asked.
Grogriss shrugged, and sighed heavily. “We hired by priest to bring him and his men here. Paid good money, and promised more once we reach island. Didn’t tell about storms. Ship wrecked two days ago. Priest and his men go to ruins. Say they come back in few days and help us get back to Calimport. Bah!” The Captain spat.
“Can you tell me anything about his men?” Hawk pressed.
Grogriss forked the sign of the evil eye. “Big red man with horns. Dark twins…always quiet. Bird woman…sneaky. Demon…sharp horns…long chain.”
“Really…” Hawk said, relaying the information to the others.
“Now you,” Grogriss said, “Why you here?”
“Probably for the same reason as your employer,” Hawk said truthfully. “We’re looking for something of great value on this island.
“You come here with magic,” Grogriss said matter-of-factly. “You take us off island with same?”
“Perhaps,” Hawk nodded, “for a price.” At this, Grogriss raised one scarred brow.
“Not money,” Hawk continued, “simply a favor. Should the priest return, say nothing of our presence here. When we return, we will deal with him, and then take you and your crew to Calimport.”
Grogriss looked doubtful at this, but shrugged. What did he have to lose? Spitting in his palm, he extended his hand once more.
The ruins were a maze. The walls were ten-feet thick, and sixty-feet high at least, disappearing into the raging tempest overhead. The only thing the group could be certain of was that they were still heading generally north, towards the island’s interior, or so they hoped.
Abruptly, the twisting pathways led into a relatively open area. Here, the ruins were complicated with a new feature…numerous spindly stone stalagmites. They were carved with strange, slash-like glyphs along vertical lines, but seemed to have no other purpose. A small tangle of green, glowing crystals grew from the base of one stalagmite near the center of the area. It was Faust who entered the clearing first, and so it was he, by virtue of his Touchsight, that determined that the stony pillars were actually alive! He shouted a warning through the Mindlink to the others just as the stalagmites, six in all, sprouted numerous ropy appendages and fang-filled maws.
Acting purely on instinct, the psion unleashed a powerful blast of mental energy in the form of a great cone of fire. The conflagration washed over four of the creatures, and instantly incinerated them where they stood. One of the remaining two lashed out with one of its tentacles from a full thirty feet away, wrapping it around the stone-giant, where it stuck fast, as if by some sort of glue.
Some distance behind Faust, Havok could see that the psion was in trouble. Powerful though he might be, he was not suited for melee combat. Pulling a thin wand from his robes, the warlock pointed it first at Pavel, and then at Faust before speaking the command word. In an eye-blink, the pair switched locations. Now Faust was safely out of reach of the odd creatures, while Pavel was right where he belonged, in the fore.
With a roar of challenge, Pavel rushed ahead, swinging his axes in a flurry of whistling, deadly metal. Deep rents opened in the tough hide of the nearest monster, and a viscous ichor oozed out in rivulets. Hawk was right on his heels, ignoring the flailing tentacles that tried to latch onto him, but fell away limply due to the ring bequeathed to him by Malchor, the magic of which resisted any efforts to immobilize the civilar. As he reached Pavel’s opponent, Hawk’s blade flashed and flared, and with four swift strokes, the beast toppled to the ground.
Havok stepped to the edge of the clearing, well beyond the reach of the last creature. The warlock recognized the odd beings as some variation of ropers, though unlike any he’d ever read about. He knew they were innately resistant to magic, but he had to try nonetheless. Palm extended, he unleashed an emerald blast of acidic energy. The roper’s flesh began to boil and sizzle where it struck, and the beast roared in fury. It lashed out with all six of its tentacles, two of them striking Pavel as he moved towards it. The dwarf cried out in agony, and he momentarily stumbled, a debilitating weakness overcoming him. The stout warrior did not pause for long, however. Though physically drained, he rushed head-long at the monster, slashing at it with one axe. Once more, Hawk backed him up, lending his own strength where the dwarf’s flagged. One final thrust from the civilar’s ancestral blade ended the roper’s threat.
“Those gems are magical,” Giovanni said after the battle had ended and he had time to scan the battlefield. “Though the nature of it is strange. It is some sort of a conjuration effect, but one I am not familiar with.” Nevertheless, he collected all of the stones, a dozen all told, and then turned his attention to the glyphs inscribed on the bodies of the ropers. They were in a language he did not recognize, though a quick tap of another of his ubiquitous wands quickly remedied that. As it turned out, the runes were written in Druidic, and their topics varied wildly. Some of them detailed aspects of the natural world such as local weather patterns or the eating habits of sharks, while others were simply gibberish. The ropers around the exterior of the clearing contained various narratives like chapters in an ongoing history, but on the ones toward the center the glyphs were arranged in chaotic, nonsensical patterns, and many of the ideograms seemed warped, their meaning difficult to discern. This was obviously not the library they were searching for, and so the party continued on, deeper into the ruins.
Somehow, they must have gone of course in the tortuous maze of menhirs, for they found themselves able to hear the tide once more, a sure indication that they had turned either too far east or too far west. Ahead, a murky tidal pool, thick with moldering driftwood and clumps of seaweed, filled a bowl-shaped opening in the ruins. Growing from the tangle of wood and water was an immense black plant. Its roots coiled out through the surrounding water and its twisted trunk supported eight rubbery-looking dark branches that swayed gently in the wind.
Faust motioned the group to a halt while they were still some distance away from the pool. Something about the plant seemed familiar to him. It was the unceasing sound of the tide crashing against the shore that jogged his memory. The plant was an octopus tree, an intelligent, carnivorous predator that was often found floating on ocean currents near shipping lanes. This one must have gotten caught in the storms surrounding Tilagos and become trapped on the island.
“It doesn’t seem to have noticed us yet,” Havok said quietly after Faust had warned them of the danger. “Perhaps we can neutralize it from here.” The warlock raised his hand, and a sizzling, vitriolic blast of energy arced across the intervening yards, splattering across the top of the tree. The acidic fluid simply shed from the plant like rain water.
“I forgot to mention,” Faust said apologetically, “they are unharmed by organic acid.”
“Now you tell me,” Havok groused. “Let’s try this then!” Concentrating, he hurled a concussive bolt which exploded against the tree with a cacophony to rival the thunder rolling overhead. The tree shuddered at the impact.
“Can it burn?” Storm asked as she began an incantation. Moments later, her question was answered as her fireball struck, and scorch marks appeared on the plant’s trunk.
The tree shuddered again, but as it did, a veritable wall of vines and sword-like thorns sprouted behind the group, completely enveloping Havok and Faust, and cutting off any means of retreat.
“Looks like it wants ta play fer keeps!” Pavel growled, hefting his axes and heading towards the tree. He was still twenty feet away when one of the rubbery branches whipped out, striking him across the forehead, and then wrapping tightly around his chest. The dwarf was lifted into the air, straight towards a gaping mouth which had suddenly appeared in the center of the branches.
Havok quickly stepped between dimensions to reappear on the far side of the wall of thorns. Unfortunately, he had been unable to reach Faust, and the psion remained imprisoned in the briars. Not wishing to waste his precious mental energies, the stone-giant psion heaved against his shackles, but it was no use. He was stuck fast.
“Storm, get me over there,” Hawk commanded as he watched Pavel being drawn ever closer to the octopus tree’s maw. The sorceress did not hesitate. With a few quick words, she touched the civilar lightly, and at Hawk’s mental command, he rose into the air, streaking towards the gargantuan plant.
Though Pavel struggled mightily, he was no match for the great strength of the tree. Almost casually, the sharp, splinter-like teeth of the creature sank into his thigh. He barely stifled a cry of agony, when suddenly, he was whipped through the air again like a rag-doll, and then he was in free-fall. The tree had dropped him…directly over the tidal pool! Never a good swimmer anyway, Pavel’s equipment now dragged him beneath the surface like a stone. He disappeared into the murky depths.
Hawk reached the evil plant just as it released Pavel. The civilar struck, slashing into the bark-like skin of the trunk, and releasing a surge of electrical energy as he did so. In response, two of the tree’s tentacles struck him like battering rams, though again thanks to Malchor, they couldn’t keep hold of him.
Havok ducked and dodged between the menhirs until he was able to reach a vantage point where he could see the tree and Hawk, but still be out of reach of those deadly branches. Once he was lined up, he loosed another mighty eldritch blast. Simultaneously, Storm lobbed a crackling orb of lightning at the plant, having seen the effectiveness of Hawk’s blast. Hawk flew like a humming bird amid the flailing appendages of the octopus tree, but deft though the civilar was, he could not avoid every blow, and already he felt his endurance flagging. Calling upon Helm’s power, he raised his ancestral blade and then drove it right into the heart of the plant, at the exact same time that a second blast from Havok struck. With a groan that sounded like wood splintering, the great tree heaved to one side, coming to rest against one of the menhirs, its branches limp upon the ground.
As Hawk landed heavily, Grubber rushed to his side. The civilar’s wounds were grievous, and the ugly bruising of his skin suggested several cracked bones. Quickly, the priest began a prayer of healing, trying to stop the internal bleeding. Suddenly, the goliath’s eyes grew wide, as he saw over Hawk’s shoulder the octopus tree moving once again! It heaved itself upright, then hammered Hawk from behind with two of its arms. Another of the long tendrils slapped Grubber, knocking him away from the civilar. Hawk turned, reaching for his sword, but he knew it was already too late. The tree loomed directly above him, all eight limbs raised to strike. He raised his shield in a futile warding gesture, but just then a brilliant green blast filled his eyes, and the plant collapsed again.
“Move away from it!” Havok shouted as he leveled burst after burst of eldritch energy at the tree. “Faust!” he called. “Stop playing around and get out here!”
With a final surge, the psion tore himself loose from the thorn wall, and looked around bewildered. “Playing? Who’s playing?”
“Why the Hell won’t this thing stay dead?” Havok cursed in between blasts.
“Oh…” the psion said, slightly embarrassed. “It regenerates too. Here, I’ll handle it.” He plodded over to the now inert plant, and focused his mind. A current of fire erupted from his forehead, setting the tree aflame, and continued to burn it until it was just a charred husk.
A loud splashing sounded from the pool behind the group, and as one they whirled, prepared to strike out at this latest threat. A thoroughly bedraggled Pavel hauled himself from the water, spitting and sputtering. In his hands, he clutched a number of glowing red gems.
“I think I found somethin’,” he grinned through seaweed stained teeth.
“Looks like we’re too late,” Grubber mumbled. What once may have been a collection of four impressive statues of marble and basalt had been reduced to a pile of shattered rubble. Fragments of the statues lay in heaps throughout the area.
“It looks as if our one-handed friend took care of these guardians for us,” Hawk agreed, kneeling down next to one of the broken statues. The vest he wore buzzed dimly, alerting him that what he was looking at were the remains of golems. “All the better for us. Pity the constructs didn’t take one or two of their party with them.”
“Don’t be so sure,” Giovanni said, concentrating on the beheaded torso of one of the golems. “There is a magical aura underneath that one. Faust, if you would be so kind?”
“I’m not exactly suited for such menial work,” the stone-giant muttered as he lifted the five-hundred pound stone with one hand. Beneath it was what appeared to be a swath of shattered blue crystals.
“Again with the crystals,” Giovanni said, speaking mostly to himself. “Green…red…now blue. What is the significance?”
“Whatever the significance was of these, they’re no use to us now,” Faust observed.
“Perhaps…perhaps not,” the warlock said pensively. “A flicker of magic yet remains. It may be that we can restore at least one of them, given time.”
“I only need a few minutes,” Grubber interrupted, bending over to scoop up a handful of the broken stones. “Grumbar likes things unchanged. He has provided me with the means to remake things as they once were.”
After a short time spent in prayer, the priest cupped the gem fragments in both of his large hands, speaking quiet words over them. Finally, he blew a puff of air into the cup, then slowly opened one palm. The gem was flawless…as perfect as the day it was first made.
“Well, I guess we have our answer,” Faust said, staring down at a circular disc hewn from obsidian that lay on the ground. The clearing they had entered seemed to lay at the far northern end of the ruins. A solid, unbroken wall stretched as far as the eye could see east and west, while above, the storm raged on. The rim of the disc was decorated with strange runes. At three points around its circumference, stylized eyes had been carved, each with a shallow, hollow at its center to represent a pupil.
With a tap of his wand, Giovanni translated the Druidic writing: “Return my eyes to me, and I shall gaze through the storm.”
“Seems fairly self-explanatory,” Faust said.
“Yes,” the warlock agreed, “now the conjuration nature of the gems makes sense. They are keys to a portal. Gather around.”
Carefully, he placed one gem of each color in the three pupils. Immediately, the entire group felt a surge of power from the disc. For Hawk and Giovanni, this feeling was accompanied by a great sense of unease. Perhaps it was an added ward placed by the druids, but it made both of them want to get away from the black circle with all haste. One-by-one, each of the party stepped onto the disc, and promptly vanished.
The sudden shift in environment was shocking and overwhelming for a moment. The sound of the raging tempest was gone, replaced by a gentle wind carrying birdsongs and the drone of buzzing insects. The sky above was overcast, yet it did not seem ready to storm.
The edge of a sprawling, black forest, dense and overgrown, filled the view in one direction. Tall trees sagged with branches heavy with moss, their dark eaves dropping to the ground in some places. From within came a cacophony of insects and singing birds. Now and then, a ghostly green glow appeared in the trees, only to fade moments later, as if whatever creature was generating it was afraid to be seen.
In the other directions, grassy hills rose. Opposite the forest, these hills eventually became a range of rocky, barren mountains. A flash of brilliant lightning ignited the sky above the mountains for a moment, and the distant peal of muted thunder echoed down from the slopes a few moments after.
As the last of the group stepped from the disc, four beings suddenly materialized at the edge of the forest. They were tall, gallant figures bedecked in glimmering, gossamer armor, with cloaks of vicious nettles draped across their shoulders. Halos of churning insects swirled about their heads. They wielded wicked, barbed spears in both hands, and four poles fanned out from the plates of armor across their upper backs. Attached at the end of each pole was a banner, one fiery red fringed with bright, crimson flames, another translucent white leaving a trail of cloud in its wake as it danced on the wind, a third deep brown and cracked like parched earth, and the last blue as the ocean on a cloudless day and frothing with bubbles. In silence, the quartet approached.
They stopped some ten paces away, and one stepped forward.
“I am Tylanthros, guardian of this realm. We are the Last Resort, as surely as the trees and stones and sea and air around you. We protect the secrets of this island from all trespassers. You have mastered the portal of storms, and therefore must be brave, but it remains to be seen if you belong here at all. Why have you come to Last Resort?”
“We seek knowledge of the phylactery of the dracolich Dragotha,” Hawk answered. The four guardians simply stared at him with their penetrating eyes. Several long minutes passed.
“We were told there was a great library to be found here,” Giovanni said finally in exasperation. A smile played across Tylanthros’ lips.
“You seek the Fountain, although you do not yet realize it. The Fountain of Dreams is linked to all things in Last Resort. The earth, the dark trees of the Doomshroud, the clouds above, my life and that of my brothers are a part of it. If the waters are consumed, the Order of the Storm’s rite is undone. The secrets kept from the world will be released, and the great creatures of legend imprisoned here on this isle shall be unleashed upon the Material Plane once more. You say you are heroes? This remains to be seen. Accomplish four tasks and prove yourselves to be the heroes of old returned. The Fountain shall not be despoiled lightly.”
The strange creature looked at his three brothers, then back to the group.
“The Fountain of Dreams shall know those destined for its gifts in but one way. It will know them by the Trials of Tilagos. Survive these trials, and you may slake your thirst on what you seek. Fail, and Last Resort shall be your grave. I am Tylanthros, and the first trial is the Claiming of Krathanos’ Golden Belt.”
A second of the quartet spoke next.
“I am Beskawahn, and the second trial is the Silence of the Doomshroud’s Mournful Song.”
The third spoke, “I am Thadimar, and the third trial is the Death of the Thorn Vale Nightmare.”
Finally, the last creature spoke, “I am Sayren-Lei, and the final trial is the Harvest of the Living Feather of the Roc King.”
Tylanthros spoke again, “These trials complete, return here and we shall show you the Fountain of Dreams. Until then, we shall watch. And wait.” In silence, the four turned and walked back towards the forest, disappearing beneath its eaves like shadows.
“Sounds simple enough,” Faust smirked, clapping his hands together.
Grubber scowled at him. “We don’t even know where to begin.”
“Sure we do,” Giovanni said, nodding. “Tylanthros said something about the dark trees of the Doomshroud, and the second trial is the Silence of the Doomshroud’s Mournful Song. Those are the only trees I see,” he pointed towards the forest. “I say that’s our starting point.”
“At least allow me to consult Grumbar on this before we go off half-cocked,” Grubber pleaded.
Giovanni shrugged. Grubber pulled a handful of fine dust from his belt pouch and sprinkled it in a circle around him. Raising his hands to the sky, he intoned “Lord Grumbar, Earth-Father, hear my plea! Show us your wisdom and grant your blessing upon the road we travel.” The others watched while the goliath stood as still as stone for several moments, his eyes closed. Then, his whole body seemed to sag, and he lowered his arms.
“Well?” Faust asked. “What did old doom-and-gloom have to say?”
Grubber looked at him from beneath his lowered lids, “He told me to continue upon my chosen path.”
“A wise one that Grumbar!” Pavel laughed. “You might just make a convert out of me yet!”
The dwarf was still guffawing as the League entered the darkness that was the Doomshroud.
Lashonna’s coordinates proved to be very precise, and it was a simple matter for Storm to transport the team first to Calimport, and then to the location where Tilagos was supposed to be. They found themselves on a beachhead, its sands littered with driftwood, and the splintered ruin of well over a hundred ships. These skeletal wrecks crowded the rocky shoreline, a veritable city of barnacle-claimed vessels peopled with dead sailors. Broken skeletons wrapped in threadbare rags hung out of yawning breaches in the ships’ hulls, and tattered sails whipped in the fierce wind sweeping the shoreline. One ship stood out from the weathered hulks…a recent victim of the wind and rocks, although a victim nonetheless. This gigantic sailing cog lay broken in two against a jagged rock on the eastern edge of the beach. Beyond the shore, the rocky beach angled up slightly to an ancient maze of ruined walls and standing stones.
Unsure of what they would find upon their arrival, the group had placed several preparatory magics and defenses about themselves. In Faust’s case, he had assumed his familiar stone giant form, and manifested Touchsight. With the latter, he was immediately able to discern the orcs hidden within the recent wreck, watching silently and unseen by the others.
‘We’re not alone,’ he said through their Mindlink, informing them of their watchers.
‘Don’t make any sudden movements,’ Hawk said. ‘I want to try this my way first.’
Aloud he called out, “We know you’re there! We have no wish to fight you! We seek to parley!” Silence reigned for a moment, and then a single orc stepped out of the wreckage. Dressed in sailor’s garb, he carried an axe in one hand and a clutch of javelins in the other.
“If you speak truth,” he replied in guttural Common, “then come and put away weapons.”
‘My way!’ Hawk said warningly through the link, already sensing Pavel’s agitation. Sheathing his sword, he started down the beach, Faust right behind him, looking ridiculous with his hands raised high above his head and his eyes tightly shut. Giovanni and Storm hung back, and Pavel did as well, though the dwarf made no move to stow his axes.
“How did you come here?” the orc asked as the pair approached. “Magic?”
“That’s not important,” Hawk answered. “We’re here seeking something. What of you and the rest of your crew? How did you come to be here?”
The orc gestured towards the wrecked ship as if the answer should be obvious.
“You should speak with the Captain,” he grunted.
“Where is he?” Hawk asked.
“Inside,” the orc replied. “Take you to him.”
Hawk hesitated. “I don’t think that would be such a good idea. My friends are a bit jittery, and I don’t trust them to keep our truce if I’m not here. Can he not come forward?”
The sailor pondered this for a moment, then shrugged and disappeared inside the broken hull. A few moments later, he returned.
“The Captain says you come in,” he said, “alone. All of us will come out until meeting done. That way, no tricks.”
Hawk nodded, “Agreed.” ‘Keep in touch,’ he said mentally to Faust. Stepping inside the cracked wall, he found himself in the ruined hold of the ship. Sitting on a crate was a large orc dressed in steel-studded leathers with a greataxe on his back and a large shield propped nearby.
“I am Senior Civilar Hawk Veritas,” the paladin said, stepping forward with his hand extended. The large orc stared at him for a moment, before slowly extending his own calloused hand.
“Grogriss Spit-Eye,” he said, “Captain of the Secret Hand.”
“What has befallen you and your crew, Captain?” Hawk asked.
Grogriss shrugged, and sighed heavily. “We hired by priest to bring him and his men here. Paid good money, and promised more once we reach island. Didn’t tell about storms. Ship wrecked two days ago. Priest and his men go to ruins. Say they come back in few days and help us get back to Calimport. Bah!” The Captain spat.
“Can you tell me anything about his men?” Hawk pressed.
Grogriss forked the sign of the evil eye. “Big red man with horns. Dark twins…always quiet. Bird woman…sneaky. Demon…sharp horns…long chain.”
“Really…” Hawk said, relaying the information to the others.
“Now you,” Grogriss said, “Why you here?”
“Probably for the same reason as your employer,” Hawk said truthfully. “We’re looking for something of great value on this island.
“You come here with magic,” Grogriss said matter-of-factly. “You take us off island with same?”
“Perhaps,” Hawk nodded, “for a price.” At this, Grogriss raised one scarred brow.
“Not money,” Hawk continued, “simply a favor. Should the priest return, say nothing of our presence here. When we return, we will deal with him, and then take you and your crew to Calimport.”
Grogriss looked doubtful at this, but shrugged. What did he have to lose? Spitting in his palm, he extended his hand once more.
The ruins were a maze. The walls were ten-feet thick, and sixty-feet high at least, disappearing into the raging tempest overhead. The only thing the group could be certain of was that they were still heading generally north, towards the island’s interior, or so they hoped.
Abruptly, the twisting pathways led into a relatively open area. Here, the ruins were complicated with a new feature…numerous spindly stone stalagmites. They were carved with strange, slash-like glyphs along vertical lines, but seemed to have no other purpose. A small tangle of green, glowing crystals grew from the base of one stalagmite near the center of the area. It was Faust who entered the clearing first, and so it was he, by virtue of his Touchsight, that determined that the stony pillars were actually alive! He shouted a warning through the Mindlink to the others just as the stalagmites, six in all, sprouted numerous ropy appendages and fang-filled maws.
Acting purely on instinct, the psion unleashed a powerful blast of mental energy in the form of a great cone of fire. The conflagration washed over four of the creatures, and instantly incinerated them where they stood. One of the remaining two lashed out with one of its tentacles from a full thirty feet away, wrapping it around the stone-giant, where it stuck fast, as if by some sort of glue.
Some distance behind Faust, Havok could see that the psion was in trouble. Powerful though he might be, he was not suited for melee combat. Pulling a thin wand from his robes, the warlock pointed it first at Pavel, and then at Faust before speaking the command word. In an eye-blink, the pair switched locations. Now Faust was safely out of reach of the odd creatures, while Pavel was right where he belonged, in the fore.
With a roar of challenge, Pavel rushed ahead, swinging his axes in a flurry of whistling, deadly metal. Deep rents opened in the tough hide of the nearest monster, and a viscous ichor oozed out in rivulets. Hawk was right on his heels, ignoring the flailing tentacles that tried to latch onto him, but fell away limply due to the ring bequeathed to him by Malchor, the magic of which resisted any efforts to immobilize the civilar. As he reached Pavel’s opponent, Hawk’s blade flashed and flared, and with four swift strokes, the beast toppled to the ground.
Havok stepped to the edge of the clearing, well beyond the reach of the last creature. The warlock recognized the odd beings as some variation of ropers, though unlike any he’d ever read about. He knew they were innately resistant to magic, but he had to try nonetheless. Palm extended, he unleashed an emerald blast of acidic energy. The roper’s flesh began to boil and sizzle where it struck, and the beast roared in fury. It lashed out with all six of its tentacles, two of them striking Pavel as he moved towards it. The dwarf cried out in agony, and he momentarily stumbled, a debilitating weakness overcoming him. The stout warrior did not pause for long, however. Though physically drained, he rushed head-long at the monster, slashing at it with one axe. Once more, Hawk backed him up, lending his own strength where the dwarf’s flagged. One final thrust from the civilar’s ancestral blade ended the roper’s threat.
“Those gems are magical,” Giovanni said after the battle had ended and he had time to scan the battlefield. “Though the nature of it is strange. It is some sort of a conjuration effect, but one I am not familiar with.” Nevertheless, he collected all of the stones, a dozen all told, and then turned his attention to the glyphs inscribed on the bodies of the ropers. They were in a language he did not recognize, though a quick tap of another of his ubiquitous wands quickly remedied that. As it turned out, the runes were written in Druidic, and their topics varied wildly. Some of them detailed aspects of the natural world such as local weather patterns or the eating habits of sharks, while others were simply gibberish. The ropers around the exterior of the clearing contained various narratives like chapters in an ongoing history, but on the ones toward the center the glyphs were arranged in chaotic, nonsensical patterns, and many of the ideograms seemed warped, their meaning difficult to discern. This was obviously not the library they were searching for, and so the party continued on, deeper into the ruins.
Somehow, they must have gone of course in the tortuous maze of menhirs, for they found themselves able to hear the tide once more, a sure indication that they had turned either too far east or too far west. Ahead, a murky tidal pool, thick with moldering driftwood and clumps of seaweed, filled a bowl-shaped opening in the ruins. Growing from the tangle of wood and water was an immense black plant. Its roots coiled out through the surrounding water and its twisted trunk supported eight rubbery-looking dark branches that swayed gently in the wind.
Faust motioned the group to a halt while they were still some distance away from the pool. Something about the plant seemed familiar to him. It was the unceasing sound of the tide crashing against the shore that jogged his memory. The plant was an octopus tree, an intelligent, carnivorous predator that was often found floating on ocean currents near shipping lanes. This one must have gotten caught in the storms surrounding Tilagos and become trapped on the island.
“It doesn’t seem to have noticed us yet,” Havok said quietly after Faust had warned them of the danger. “Perhaps we can neutralize it from here.” The warlock raised his hand, and a sizzling, vitriolic blast of energy arced across the intervening yards, splattering across the top of the tree. The acidic fluid simply shed from the plant like rain water.
“I forgot to mention,” Faust said apologetically, “they are unharmed by organic acid.”
“Now you tell me,” Havok groused. “Let’s try this then!” Concentrating, he hurled a concussive bolt which exploded against the tree with a cacophony to rival the thunder rolling overhead. The tree shuddered at the impact.
“Can it burn?” Storm asked as she began an incantation. Moments later, her question was answered as her fireball struck, and scorch marks appeared on the plant’s trunk.
The tree shuddered again, but as it did, a veritable wall of vines and sword-like thorns sprouted behind the group, completely enveloping Havok and Faust, and cutting off any means of retreat.
“Looks like it wants ta play fer keeps!” Pavel growled, hefting his axes and heading towards the tree. He was still twenty feet away when one of the rubbery branches whipped out, striking him across the forehead, and then wrapping tightly around his chest. The dwarf was lifted into the air, straight towards a gaping mouth which had suddenly appeared in the center of the branches.
Havok quickly stepped between dimensions to reappear on the far side of the wall of thorns. Unfortunately, he had been unable to reach Faust, and the psion remained imprisoned in the briars. Not wishing to waste his precious mental energies, the stone-giant psion heaved against his shackles, but it was no use. He was stuck fast.
“Storm, get me over there,” Hawk commanded as he watched Pavel being drawn ever closer to the octopus tree’s maw. The sorceress did not hesitate. With a few quick words, she touched the civilar lightly, and at Hawk’s mental command, he rose into the air, streaking towards the gargantuan plant.
Though Pavel struggled mightily, he was no match for the great strength of the tree. Almost casually, the sharp, splinter-like teeth of the creature sank into his thigh. He barely stifled a cry of agony, when suddenly, he was whipped through the air again like a rag-doll, and then he was in free-fall. The tree had dropped him…directly over the tidal pool! Never a good swimmer anyway, Pavel’s equipment now dragged him beneath the surface like a stone. He disappeared into the murky depths.
Hawk reached the evil plant just as it released Pavel. The civilar struck, slashing into the bark-like skin of the trunk, and releasing a surge of electrical energy as he did so. In response, two of the tree’s tentacles struck him like battering rams, though again thanks to Malchor, they couldn’t keep hold of him.
Havok ducked and dodged between the menhirs until he was able to reach a vantage point where he could see the tree and Hawk, but still be out of reach of those deadly branches. Once he was lined up, he loosed another mighty eldritch blast. Simultaneously, Storm lobbed a crackling orb of lightning at the plant, having seen the effectiveness of Hawk’s blast. Hawk flew like a humming bird amid the flailing appendages of the octopus tree, but deft though the civilar was, he could not avoid every blow, and already he felt his endurance flagging. Calling upon Helm’s power, he raised his ancestral blade and then drove it right into the heart of the plant, at the exact same time that a second blast from Havok struck. With a groan that sounded like wood splintering, the great tree heaved to one side, coming to rest against one of the menhirs, its branches limp upon the ground.
As Hawk landed heavily, Grubber rushed to his side. The civilar’s wounds were grievous, and the ugly bruising of his skin suggested several cracked bones. Quickly, the priest began a prayer of healing, trying to stop the internal bleeding. Suddenly, the goliath’s eyes grew wide, as he saw over Hawk’s shoulder the octopus tree moving once again! It heaved itself upright, then hammered Hawk from behind with two of its arms. Another of the long tendrils slapped Grubber, knocking him away from the civilar. Hawk turned, reaching for his sword, but he knew it was already too late. The tree loomed directly above him, all eight limbs raised to strike. He raised his shield in a futile warding gesture, but just then a brilliant green blast filled his eyes, and the plant collapsed again.
“Move away from it!” Havok shouted as he leveled burst after burst of eldritch energy at the tree. “Faust!” he called. “Stop playing around and get out here!”
With a final surge, the psion tore himself loose from the thorn wall, and looked around bewildered. “Playing? Who’s playing?”
“Why the Hell won’t this thing stay dead?” Havok cursed in between blasts.
“Oh…” the psion said, slightly embarrassed. “It regenerates too. Here, I’ll handle it.” He plodded over to the now inert plant, and focused his mind. A current of fire erupted from his forehead, setting the tree aflame, and continued to burn it until it was just a charred husk.
A loud splashing sounded from the pool behind the group, and as one they whirled, prepared to strike out at this latest threat. A thoroughly bedraggled Pavel hauled himself from the water, spitting and sputtering. In his hands, he clutched a number of glowing red gems.
“I think I found somethin’,” he grinned through seaweed stained teeth.
“Looks like we’re too late,” Grubber mumbled. What once may have been a collection of four impressive statues of marble and basalt had been reduced to a pile of shattered rubble. Fragments of the statues lay in heaps throughout the area.
“It looks as if our one-handed friend took care of these guardians for us,” Hawk agreed, kneeling down next to one of the broken statues. The vest he wore buzzed dimly, alerting him that what he was looking at were the remains of golems. “All the better for us. Pity the constructs didn’t take one or two of their party with them.”
“Don’t be so sure,” Giovanni said, concentrating on the beheaded torso of one of the golems. “There is a magical aura underneath that one. Faust, if you would be so kind?”
“I’m not exactly suited for such menial work,” the stone-giant muttered as he lifted the five-hundred pound stone with one hand. Beneath it was what appeared to be a swath of shattered blue crystals.
“Again with the crystals,” Giovanni said, speaking mostly to himself. “Green…red…now blue. What is the significance?”
“Whatever the significance was of these, they’re no use to us now,” Faust observed.
“Perhaps…perhaps not,” the warlock said pensively. “A flicker of magic yet remains. It may be that we can restore at least one of them, given time.”
“I only need a few minutes,” Grubber interrupted, bending over to scoop up a handful of the broken stones. “Grumbar likes things unchanged. He has provided me with the means to remake things as they once were.”
After a short time spent in prayer, the priest cupped the gem fragments in both of his large hands, speaking quiet words over them. Finally, he blew a puff of air into the cup, then slowly opened one palm. The gem was flawless…as perfect as the day it was first made.
“Well, I guess we have our answer,” Faust said, staring down at a circular disc hewn from obsidian that lay on the ground. The clearing they had entered seemed to lay at the far northern end of the ruins. A solid, unbroken wall stretched as far as the eye could see east and west, while above, the storm raged on. The rim of the disc was decorated with strange runes. At three points around its circumference, stylized eyes had been carved, each with a shallow, hollow at its center to represent a pupil.
With a tap of his wand, Giovanni translated the Druidic writing: “Return my eyes to me, and I shall gaze through the storm.”
“Seems fairly self-explanatory,” Faust said.
“Yes,” the warlock agreed, “now the conjuration nature of the gems makes sense. They are keys to a portal. Gather around.”
Carefully, he placed one gem of each color in the three pupils. Immediately, the entire group felt a surge of power from the disc. For Hawk and Giovanni, this feeling was accompanied by a great sense of unease. Perhaps it was an added ward placed by the druids, but it made both of them want to get away from the black circle with all haste. One-by-one, each of the party stepped onto the disc, and promptly vanished.
The sudden shift in environment was shocking and overwhelming for a moment. The sound of the raging tempest was gone, replaced by a gentle wind carrying birdsongs and the drone of buzzing insects. The sky above was overcast, yet it did not seem ready to storm.
The edge of a sprawling, black forest, dense and overgrown, filled the view in one direction. Tall trees sagged with branches heavy with moss, their dark eaves dropping to the ground in some places. From within came a cacophony of insects and singing birds. Now and then, a ghostly green glow appeared in the trees, only to fade moments later, as if whatever creature was generating it was afraid to be seen.
In the other directions, grassy hills rose. Opposite the forest, these hills eventually became a range of rocky, barren mountains. A flash of brilliant lightning ignited the sky above the mountains for a moment, and the distant peal of muted thunder echoed down from the slopes a few moments after.
As the last of the group stepped from the disc, four beings suddenly materialized at the edge of the forest. They were tall, gallant figures bedecked in glimmering, gossamer armor, with cloaks of vicious nettles draped across their shoulders. Halos of churning insects swirled about their heads. They wielded wicked, barbed spears in both hands, and four poles fanned out from the plates of armor across their upper backs. Attached at the end of each pole was a banner, one fiery red fringed with bright, crimson flames, another translucent white leaving a trail of cloud in its wake as it danced on the wind, a third deep brown and cracked like parched earth, and the last blue as the ocean on a cloudless day and frothing with bubbles. In silence, the quartet approached.
They stopped some ten paces away, and one stepped forward.
“I am Tylanthros, guardian of this realm. We are the Last Resort, as surely as the trees and stones and sea and air around you. We protect the secrets of this island from all trespassers. You have mastered the portal of storms, and therefore must be brave, but it remains to be seen if you belong here at all. Why have you come to Last Resort?”
“We seek knowledge of the phylactery of the dracolich Dragotha,” Hawk answered. The four guardians simply stared at him with their penetrating eyes. Several long minutes passed.
“We were told there was a great library to be found here,” Giovanni said finally in exasperation. A smile played across Tylanthros’ lips.
“You seek the Fountain, although you do not yet realize it. The Fountain of Dreams is linked to all things in Last Resort. The earth, the dark trees of the Doomshroud, the clouds above, my life and that of my brothers are a part of it. If the waters are consumed, the Order of the Storm’s rite is undone. The secrets kept from the world will be released, and the great creatures of legend imprisoned here on this isle shall be unleashed upon the Material Plane once more. You say you are heroes? This remains to be seen. Accomplish four tasks and prove yourselves to be the heroes of old returned. The Fountain shall not be despoiled lightly.”
The strange creature looked at his three brothers, then back to the group.
“The Fountain of Dreams shall know those destined for its gifts in but one way. It will know them by the Trials of Tilagos. Survive these trials, and you may slake your thirst on what you seek. Fail, and Last Resort shall be your grave. I am Tylanthros, and the first trial is the Claiming of Krathanos’ Golden Belt.”
A second of the quartet spoke next.
“I am Beskawahn, and the second trial is the Silence of the Doomshroud’s Mournful Song.”
The third spoke, “I am Thadimar, and the third trial is the Death of the Thorn Vale Nightmare.”
Finally, the last creature spoke, “I am Sayren-Lei, and the final trial is the Harvest of the Living Feather of the Roc King.”
Tylanthros spoke again, “These trials complete, return here and we shall show you the Fountain of Dreams. Until then, we shall watch. And wait.” In silence, the four turned and walked back towards the forest, disappearing beneath its eaves like shadows.
“Sounds simple enough,” Faust smirked, clapping his hands together.
Grubber scowled at him. “We don’t even know where to begin.”
“Sure we do,” Giovanni said, nodding. “Tylanthros said something about the dark trees of the Doomshroud, and the second trial is the Silence of the Doomshroud’s Mournful Song. Those are the only trees I see,” he pointed towards the forest. “I say that’s our starting point.”
“At least allow me to consult Grumbar on this before we go off half-cocked,” Grubber pleaded.
Giovanni shrugged. Grubber pulled a handful of fine dust from his belt pouch and sprinkled it in a circle around him. Raising his hands to the sky, he intoned “Lord Grumbar, Earth-Father, hear my plea! Show us your wisdom and grant your blessing upon the road we travel.” The others watched while the goliath stood as still as stone for several moments, his eyes closed. Then, his whole body seemed to sag, and he lowered his arms.
“Well?” Faust asked. “What did old doom-and-gloom have to say?”
Grubber looked at him from beneath his lowered lids, “He told me to continue upon my chosen path.”
“A wise one that Grumbar!” Pavel laughed. “You might just make a convert out of me yet!”
The dwarf was still guffawing as the League entered the darkness that was the Doomshroud.
