Arcanis: Gonnes, Sons, and Treasure Runs (COMPLETED)

[talien]

Quintus looked up from the ground. Small people dressed in pallid masks and robes were ripping off his clothes. They were gnomes or dwarves. They poked and kicked at Quintus.

“Up!” they shouted over and over. “Up! Up!”

Quintus snarled. “I’ll kill you!”

He punched one of them in the face. It fell back, a bright red stain appearing on the pallid mask. Then one of them touched him with a crackling hand. Pain jolted throughout his body. He fell back down to the ground.

“Finish stripping him!” said one of the gnomes.

The other gnomes pulled all of Quintus’ clothes off. Something was fastened around his neck. It was a dog collar. Quintus got a glimpse of the leash before one of them yanked hard.

“Up!”

They led Quintus through the abandoned Illiirite church to the altar. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see rows upon rows of pews, piled up in the moonlight.

“Where are you taking me?” he snarled.

They stopped pulling him along.

“Down.”

“What?”

The other gnomes yanked Quintus down by the leash. “Down!” He fell to his knees.

The shock hit him again. It was a spell. Quintus knew it was a spell, he’d seen it before. It convulsed him. He collapsed to the ground.

“Just kill me and be done with it,” Quintus hissed through clenched teeth.

“Oh, that would be too simple,” said a sibilant voice.

Quintus looked up. It was a bald man with a broad grin. He was sitting on the Illirite altar, using it as a makeshift throne.

“You!” snarled Quintus. “I remember you…”

Quintus had traveled to Freeport with the others but had no intention of staying. When the Illirite priest, Parsippus, asked for his help, Quintus couldn’t say no. They were supposed to simply throw out squatters.

Parsippus shouted and then Quintus saw stars before his eyes…

“Memories?” said the man. “Oh, I would advise against them. They don’t call it the past ‘tense’ for nothing, you know.” He laughed at his own joke. “Memories are so treacherous. They remind us, over, and over, and over again, just how insane this world really is! Memories can be vile, repulsive little brutes,” he grinned over at his strangely attired servants. “Like gnomes, I suppose.”

“What did you do with Parsippus?”

The man rose and started down the steps towards Quintus. He looked almost concerned.

“Fear not, legionnaire.” He patted Quintus on the head. “My name is Khorbon and I am here to set you free. I am your savior, and I have come to you with a new holy word.” He sat down on one of the steps, just above Quintus’ eye level. “Can a man live without remembering? I say they can! But ah, you say, memories are the foundation off our reason. If we can’t face them, we deny reason itself. That is so very true, an excellent point. But I say, why not deny reason? Where has reason gotten us? You are not contractually bound to reason!”

“You’re insane,” said Quintus.

“Most definitely,” said Khorbon. “But that changes nothing. And everything. When you find yourself heading for those places in your past where the screams are unbearable, there’s always madness! Madness is your emergency exit. You can just step outside and close the door on all those dreadful memories. Lock them up forever, and walk away a new man. Happy, mad, and free”

“When your gnomes aren’t looking, Khorbon, I’m going to kill you with my bare hands,” said Quintus.

“Kill me? Kill me?” Khorbon gestured at the gnomes behind Quintus. “Did you hear that? He’s going to kill me? Well, he’s very confused, isn’t he?” He leaned forward to look Quintus in the face. “It’s quite the other way around, I’m afraid. You see, my memories have a home and the key is Ambrose. I’m not sure how, but Ambrose got out of Carcosa and he’s working very hard to get back. We’re going to follow him through a portal to a very important party. But you can’t go to a party without bringing a gift, can you?” He lifted his arms up. “Of course not! You, my stalwart friend, are going to be my gift to the King. A gift of madness! And he will make me Prince of Carcosa, as I am destined to be.”

Khorbon nodded to one of the gnomes, who pulled Quintus’ leash.

“Come.”

Quintus looked back and forth from the gnome to Khorbon. “What are you going to do to me?”

“Go with these gentlemen, my new friend,” said Khorbon. “I have a party to prepare for.”

Then they put the mask over his head. And the nightmare began.

[talien]

“Now Cal, do you understand your instructions?” asked Lucius.

The big lizard, topping over six feet, nodded.

“Repeat it back to me,” said Lucius in the boldest tone he could muster. “Please.”

“Take this note to Ilmarė,” said Cal, waving a crumpled up piece of paper in his hand, “in the western arm of Drac’s End, near the Merchant and Temple Districts.”

“And?”

“And no one else is supposed to read it. Not even me.”

Lucius nodded, satisfied. “Not even you. I found many disturbing things in the notebooks of Garniss the Sage, but that note is the most disturbing of all.”

Cal nodded. “What do I tell Ilmarė when I find her?”

“She’ll know what it means,” said Lucius. “She’s read the story before.”

The ss’ressen turned to leave.

“I would not normally entrust such a mission to you,” said Lucius, “but your particular talents make you the best…man for the job.”

“Because I’m big and strong?” asked Cal.

“Because you can’t read.”

[talien]

Cal didn’t have much to fear from Freeport. In fact, it was one of the few places he felt comfortable. Although people openly stared, he preferred it to the nervous side glances of more polite cities. In Freeport, if someone didn’t like you, they let you know it. If they feared you, they let you know that too.

So it was surprising when a woman approached him. Few locals dared. The thugs large enough to threaten him had learned his lesson. Besides, Cal was perpetually broke anyway.

“Blimey!” she said, looking up at Cal. “Yew 'ook like a big strappin' fellow. Might I be able ter offer my services? Nuff said, yeah?”

Cal’s pupiless eyes blinked. He sniffed tentatively in the woman’s direction. Her eyes and lips were painted extravagantly. Her clothes were too tight, especially the top part.

“Orww, right, come on now. I know I don't 'ave a look like much, but I fink I can 'andle the likes of yer. Wotcher say?”

“No thanks,” said Cal.

The woman awkwardly stroked one of Cal’s scaly forearms. He pulled away from her.

“Psst!” shouted someone from a nearby alley. He was in front of a two-story rough stone building with a drainpipe up the side. “Over here,” said a voice concealed in shadows.

Cal was only too happy to put distance between himself and the prostitute.

“Down here!” shouted a voice somewhere around Cal’s knee.

He looked down. A confident-looking short little man with shifty eyes was staring up at him.

“Listen,” said the man. “My name’s Harcourt. Resseka spends a bit of time 'ere. She lost one of 'er children at sea more than year ago, and 'as no brass. I try ter wotch out for 'er, but sometimes she goes a wee too far wiv 'er propositions.”

“Maybe she should go look for money from someone else,” said Cal.

“Cal!” shouted a familiar voice. He could make out the svelte form of Ilmarė the elorii and the squat silhouette of Beldin the dwarf walking down the street towards him. They had hopped a portal to Freeport upon receiving urgent word from Lucius.

When Cal looked back, Harcourt and Resseka were gone. “What the…”

“Stop, thief!” shouted someone else, jogging past them. Chemb was a big man with blonde hair, tan skin, and a perpetually startled expression. He pointed towards the roof. “He’s getting away!” A female gnome named Claret, who pointed in tandem with the big man, accompanied him.

Cal looked down at his belt, which was basically a rope holding up his loincloth. The note was gone!

“My note!” he shouted.

Harcourt clambered up the drainpipe. Chemb tried to climb after him.

”Cal, what is going on?” asked Ilmarė. “Whatever Lucius wanted better be good; I interrupted my vacation for this.” Beldin’s axe was out in his hands.

“I have something for you from Lucius,” said Cal. “I’ll go get it.”

Then, using one claw after the other, Cal dug himself footholds and began climbing the sheer surface of the stone building.

[talien]

The little man ran across the rooftops as fast as his little legs would carry him. He easily sped across a four-inch wide plank onto a two-story stone building.

Harcourt spun around to kick the plank. It clattered into the alley below.

Harcourt flashed a brief smile at the ss’ressen that was pounding after him. It was a good ten feet distance between the two buildings.

Then the lizard was gone. Harcourt spun around…

Only to nearly smack right into Cal. “Give me back my note,” said the lizard with a hiss.

Harcourt took a step backwards. Cal stepped forward. The roof groaned under the three hundred pound lizard man’s weight. Then it gave way.

Cal collapsed up to his chest. He was stuck.

The thief laughed and ran right up to Cal. Then, using the ss’ressen’s head as a stepping-stone, Harcourt launched himself over the broken rooftop.

With his formidable forearm strength alone, Cal lifted himself out of the hole. He crawled across the rooftop just in time to see Harcourt crossing to the next building on a tightrope.

Just to show how dexterous he was, the thief walked backwards across the tightrope while facing Cal. “So long, yer big alligator!” shouted Hargrove. “Right!”

Then a whistling axe snapped the tightrope in half.

Harcourt shrieked as the tightrope collapsed. He grabbed on to the edge of the roof, struggling as much as Cal to maintain his balance.

From the alley, Ilmarė pointed one finger at the note. It was hastily stuffed into Harcourt’s belt pouch, and part of it was still visible.

“I believe that’s mine,” she said. The note floated down out of Harcourt’s pouch towards Ilmarė.

A roiling mist filled up around the alley. From out of the mist, a tanned arm snatched the note out of the air.

“Not if I have anything to say about it!” shouted Chemb.

“I’m really getting tired of this,” said Beldin. He caught sight of the female gnome. “You!” he said. “You two were in on it!”

Claret squeaked as Beldin reached for a throwing axe. She backed up to the wall of the stone building.

Beldin hurled the hand axe. The blade whistled end over end. Instead of skewering Claret in the forehead, she disappeared into the wall, eyes crossed as the axe embedded itself in the stone.

“I hate gnomes,” muttered Beldin.

The big man was running for his life. “Oh no you don’t!” shouted Ilmarė. She drew her bow…and then relaxed.

Chemb looked over his shoulder and flashed Ilmarė a quick smile. He was going to escape.

Then he ran into something big, green and angry.

[talien]

“Are you sure Harcourt ran into this old church?” asked Ilmarė. She hopped down to join the others at the bottom of the belfry.

Cal nodded. His tongue flicked out. “I can smell his fear,” he said.

“I hope this note was worth the trouble,” said Beldin. “What’s it about, anyway?”

Ilmarė put her hands on her hips as she surveyed the room. There was a door at either end. “It’s an invitation to a party for someone named Ambrose. I’ve read about him in Garniss’ books.”

“Who?” asked Cal.

“Ambrose is a fictional character. The invitation is exactly as it was described in the story that Garniss the Sage wrote. Now I’m not so sure that he was the original author.”

“So why did they try to steal it?” asked Cal.

“I don’t know what they would want with a note,” said Ilmarė. “They could have forged the invitation themselves if they’re that desperate. Perhaps it’s magical.”

“That’s odd.” Beldin peered at the ceiling.

Cal and Ilmarė looked up. There were two pairs of parallel grooves running from one side of the ceiling to the other, right above each doorway.

“It looks like tracks of some sort,” said Beldin. “I’ve never seen anything like it. And I should know, the dwarves of Solanos Mor are known for their stone craftsmanship.”

Ilmarė rolled her eyes. “There’s something else.” She pointed at a large symbol, a strange triskelion with tentacle-like arms. It was painted in yellow over a burning gladius engraved on the wall, the symbol of Illir. “This was once a Temple to Illiir. But that’s the Yellow Sign, so the Brotherhood must be here.”

“You’ve mentioned them before,” said Beldin. “What would they want with that invitation?”

There was a strange whirring from the other side of one of the doors. A horrible screeching, the sound of metal that had become unaccustomed to moving after decades of neglect, tormented their ears.

Ilmarė drew her bow and faced the door. “Did I mention that Ambrose was a master of clockworks?”

The door burst open. A tall figure in dark clothing, moved jerkily through the doorway. It walked funny, with movements that were broad and exaggerated.

“Now you tell us,” said Beldin.

[talien]

“Down!” shouted Ilmarė.

A whistling blade flew through the air, boomeranging around the confined belfry. Cal ducked down just as the blade returned to its owner’s hand.

It was a life-size marionette, dressed in ochre and purple robes, with china hands and face. Chains hung down from a dozen points on its body, leading up to metal ball bearings nestled in the tracks above them.

With a roar, Cal hacked at the marionette with incredible force. The marionette snapped sideways and spun, its arms flailing about helpless. It spun around and around, twisting its chains so much that it lifted upwards towards the ceiling.

“Cal,” said Beldin, “I don’t know if that was such a good idea.”

Slowly at first, the marionette untwined itself. It whirled faster and faster, until it whistled through the air at cyclonic speeds. Then it trundled forward towards them.

Beldin held up his shield, only to be rewarded with a rapid-fire series of strikes. Sparks jumped where the marionette’s spinning blade met his shield.

Ilmarė fired an arrow at its emotionless features. The head tilted slightly from the impact.

“How do we stop it?” asked Ilmarė.

“Aim for the chains!” shouted Beldin. He was pinned down. It was all he could do to keep the marionette from slicing through the shield.

Cal hacked at it again, higher this time. The spinning stopped for a brief moment and the marionette bounced sideways. Then its haphazard arms surged forward. The big lizard barely ducked the swipe of its throwing blade.

Beldin dropped his axe and unhooked his morningstar. The marionette was preoccupied with Cal, advancing again with slow but relentless swipes of its blade. He lifted the morningstar over his head…

The marionette’s head spun around 180 degrees to look at Beldin. Then its body snapped around to face him.

Beldin smashed downward with the morningstar, towards the center of the marionette’s body. Unlike the slashing attacks of the axes, the marionette felt the full force of the morningstar. One of the chains snapped and the marionette’s arm holding the blade went limp.

“Now Cal!”

The huge axe that Calactyte wielded sliced downward at an angle. More chains snapped. The marionette collapsed, lifeless.

Beldin looked down at it. “Unbelievable,” said the dwarf.

“I know,” said Ilmarė. She stared down at a dead body dressed in the robes of a priest of Illiir. It was sprawled across the doorway to the room where the marionette came from. “It looks like Illirite priests tried to reclaim this temple.”

“Quintus with them?” asked Cal.

Ilmarė turned the body over. The man’s face was frozen in a rictus grin. It was not Quintus.

The elorii exhaled. She hadn’t realized she was holding her breath.

“This is amazing craftsmanship!” exclaimed Beldin, completely unphased by the fact that a puppet had nearly murdered them.

Ilmarė rolled her eyes. “Let’s get going before someone else pulls our strings.”

[talien]

Every day, the cultists entered Quintus’ cage wearing expressionless, pallid masks.

Khorbon nodded towards one of the gnomes. “Whillispur, if you please?”

Suddenly, loud, hard music blasted all around him. The world spun. Psychedelic colors flashed everywhere.

The pallid masks appeared; hundreds of them, floating in space. They surrounded him.

Whenever Quintus tried to close his eyes, he was poked with the shocking wands.

“There’ll be no closing your eyes,” said Khorbon. “I have so much to show you.”

The world spun. Quintus struggled mightily to keep from vomiting. His head throbbed.

“Illusionists are really marvelous, aren’t they?” asked Khorbon. Quintus couldn’t respond. “When they really get going, they can be downright dangerous. For example, we’ve been digging through your mind for quite awhile. And look what we found!”

Images appeared. A woman. Her faced covered in sweat, her eyes bloodshot. Her hair was matted all around her. She was dressed in a simple white robe, but her lower half was spattered with blood.

“Oh, I know you’re confused, you’re frightened. Who wouldn’t be? Lets face it; you’re in a hell of a situation. Life’s a bowl of cherries, and these are the pits, but remember,” he took a deep breath and began to sing.

“Along the shore the cloud waves break,
The twin suns sink behind the lake,
The shadows lengthen
In Carcosa
Strange is the night where black stars rise,
And strange moons circle through the skies,
But stranger still is
Lost Carcosa
Songs that the Hyades shall sing,
Where flap the tatters of the King,
Must die unheard in
Dim Carcosa.
Song of my soul, my voice is dead,
Die though, unsung, as tears unshed
Shall dry and die in
Lost Carcosa
The stars that burn their charcoal death
Shrink back, they feel the hoary breath
Of he who ransoms
Great Carcosa
He flees where queen and prophet meet
Where twin suns fall but never set
Escapes the tomb of
Lost Carcosa.”

The images flickered faster and faster, from faces of the pallid mask, to that of a woman, her eyes glazed, blood vessels burst beneath her delicate skin. Blood stained her distended stomach. Her legs were limp.

“Baebiana!” screamed Quintus.

Then the pallid masks surrounded him. The music stopped.

Khorbon bent down to peer into Quintus’s face. “Poor bastard. It’s a shame they don’t let legionnaires marry. Got her pregnant, then she died on him in childbirth. “

Quintus didn’t move. His eyes were open. Tears stained his cheeks. Quintus’ breathing was slow and shallow.

“Well, we cracked him. He’s catatonic,” said Khorbon from behind his mask. “I think he’ll make an excellent gift for the King in Yellow.”

Then he left.

[talien]

An eternity passed. Quintus lay there in the darkness until the door opened again.

“Quintus! Are you…are you okay?

Ilmarė opened the cage. Quintus didn’t come out. She went into the cage with him.

“Quintus,” said Ilmarė. She touched him on the arm.

Quintus blinked. Slowly, he turned to focus on her. “Gods…” he said. His voice was hoarse from screaming. He clutched the elf to him.

“It’s okay,” said Ilmarė.

“Khorbon…that bastard!” said Quintus. “He killed Parsippus. He tried to drive me mad.”

“You’re safe now,” said Ilmarė. “Beldin and Cal are with me. I can stay here if you need me.”

Ilmarė took off her cloak and put it around Quintus.

“No! No, I’m okay. You have to go after the Brotherhood,” he let her go, staring into Ilmarė’s eyes. “They’re opening a portal to a place called Carcosa. They’re using Ambrose to do it. You’ve got to stop them!”

“I’ll do my best,” said Ilmarė. She looked at the naked legionnaire with concern. He had lost weight. Quintus’ face was haggard and drawn, with over a week’s worth of beard.

“How long have I been in here?”

“I don’t know,” said Ilmarė. “I haven’t heard from you in three weeks. I thought,” she fumbled with the words. “I thought that maybe you had changed your mind.”

Quintus shook his head. “Three weeks!” He looked around, too weak to move, as if his eyes could release him. “It was supposed to be a quick favor for the Church of Illiir before I set out for home…you have to stop them!”

“I’m leaving you some food and water. I’ll be back for you.”

Quintus grabbed her arm. “You have to show them. You have to let them know that it didn’t work! I’m still sane!” Quintus’ voice was hoarse. “I’m still sane!” he shouted again, his eyes unfocused.

“I will,” said Ilmarė slowly. Then the crash outside of the room forced her to abandon him once more.

[talien]

Cal sniffed tentatively into the empty room. It was covered in flagstones. Ilmarė had padded across through a doorway on the same wall. She was talking to someone; he thought he heard a man’s voice on the other side.

“What are you waiting for?” asked Beldin, swatting at Cal’s twitching tail with his shield.

Cal tilted his head to listen. “Quintus?”

He took a step forward. Something creaked beneath him.

“Don’t…move,” said Beldin behind him.

The big lizard didn’t move. His black pupils darted everywhere. “What?”

“Those flagstones are trapped,” said Beldin. “They’re loose. Ilmarė was too light to set them off. But you,” he took in Cal’s three-hundred plus pound frame, “are heavier.”

“Now you tell me,” said Cal.

“We’re going to move slowly off the stones, one foot at a time.” The dwarf had both arms out, trying to maintain his balance. The flagstones creaked beneath them.

Someone shouted from the other room. Calactyte’s tail twitched in agitation. Beldin’s eyes crossed as he watched the lizard’s long, whip-like tail sway back and forth in front of him.

It was too much. Two of the flagstones collapsed beneath Cal. He fell through the hole up to his waist and clawed for purchase.

“Stop!” shouted Beldin. But it was too late.

More flagstones fell in. To Beldin’s horror, the collapsing flagstones radiated outward. Cal disappeared with a yelp.

Beldin caught a glimpse of Ilmarė sticking her head out of the doorway. Then the ground fell out from beneath him.

[talien]

“Ouch,” said Cal. He rose out of the rubble, shrugging off several large wooden panels.

They had fallen into the room below, a maze of sorts. Wooden panels, eight feet tall and five feet wide, supported each flagstone above them. They were connected to sturdy wooden poles.

“I told you to keep that tail under control!” muttered Beldin from beneath a pile of wood and debris.

Ilmarė landed next to them.

“Why didn’t you set off the trap?” asked Cal.

“Osalian blesses my steps,” said Ilmarė with a sniff. “I have nothing to fear from such things.”

Just then, the sound of chanting reached their ears.

“That can’t be good,” said Ilmarė. “Let’s go.”

She turned down a corridor flanked by the wooden panels. The sound of many small balls clattered along the floor.

Ilmarė windmilled as she stepped on them. Beldin caught her on his shield.

“Your god still blessing your steps, huh?” the dwarf said gruffly.

“Very funny,” said Ilmarė. She looked around. “Now where did Cal go to?”

[talien]

Cal stalked in the opposite direction, sniffing as he went. He turned the corner just in time to see a woman dressed in bright yellow robes and a pallid mask toss marbles beneath one of the wooden panels.

“You!” shouted Cal. He took his axe off of his back strap.

“Ahh!” shouted Orpen. She blurred sideways as Cal’s axe rent a gash in the floor. “You’ll bring down the ceiling if you keep that up!”

Cal swung again, but she blurred backwards. “Stop doing that!” he shouted.

The woman shrieked and ran down through the maze. “Druf!” she shouted. “Druf, shoot him!”

Cal caught a glimpse of her profile as Orpen looked straight ahead. She was preparing herself for something.

He swung his axe downwards again but she blurred forward, out of reach. When Cal turned the corner, he saw Orpen clear a long pit.

She spun to laugh at the big lizard. But he wasn’t there.

There was a thud behind her.

Orpen slowly turned around to look.

“I jump good,” said Cal, grinning a saurial grin.

“Down!” shouted someone from within the pit.

Orpen ducked, and a crossbow bolt thunked into Cal’s shoulder. The lizard looked down at it in disdain.

Orpen dove past him. She grinned back at Cal and turned, only to smack into Beldin’s shield.

The cultist fell backwards and raised her hands. “I give up!” shouted Orpen.

Beldin lowered his morningstar to point it at the woman’s head. “Don’t move.”

“I won’t,” said Orpen. “None of us will.”

Then the hilt of Captain Bezyli’s dagger appeared in her forehead.

Beldin whirled. “What did you do that for?”

Ilmarė, her hand still extended from the throw. “She hooked her foot around a pole. She was going to pull down the ceiling.” Sure enough, the edge of the woman’s foot was just underneath the wooden panel.

“The chanting,” said Cal, peering into the pit. Another crossbow bolt thudded into his chest from below. He didn’t seem to notice. “It’s coming from somewhere down below us.”

“We’ve got to find a way down there,” said Ilmarė.

Cal lifted his axe and roared. Then he jumped headlong into the pit.

A geyser of blood splashed upwards. Whoever was in there had surely been cleaved in twain by the combined force of Calactyte and gravity. Some of the gore spattered on Ilmarė’s boots.

“That’s not quite what I had in mind,” said Ilmarė with a look of disdain.

[Elder-Basilisk]

I like Cal.

[talien]

Calactyte, played by my brother, is played a bit like a superhero. He's big, he's friendly, and nobody understands him. He's also a barbarian, so he gets to be really, really violent.

Cal's back story will be fleshed out quite a bit as the story hour progresses. Especially when we go back to his village and learn about his tribe.

[talien]

Ilmarė and Beldin carefully wended their way down the steps.

“Be ready for anything,” said Ilmarė. “Who knows what the Brotherhood is capable of?”

A huge axe blade jutted from the wall. Ilmarė hopped backwards in surprise.

Two more hacks and the wall smashed open. Cal stood in the opening, covered in blood and dust.

“Oh, hi Cal,” said Ilmarė. “Nice of you to join us.”

“Hi,” said Cal. He sniffed the air. “We’re not alone.”

The room was filled with all manner of clockworks. Abandoned mechanical horses, limp humanoid bodies, and large clocks of all sorts lay forgotten and unused. Something whirred at the far end of the chamber.

“The orrery is almost ready!” said the voice of an old man across the room. “Now if I could just find the invitation…”

The orrery was about the size of a merry-go-round, but in place of the colorful roof and all the prancing horses and noble carriages there were a set of brass globes mounted on sturdy metal arms. The arms joined at the center, where Ambrose tinkered up an elaborate set of gears and cogs that moved the globes around in great ovals.

Standing in front of the orrery was a large, white shape. It was too far away to make out, cloaked in the shadows of the room. An older man was moving back and forth behind it, dressed in a workman’s apron.

“That’s got to be Ambrose,” said Ilmarė. She drew her bow. “And if he’s working on an orrery, that means he’s opening a portal to Carcosa.”

“What’s the invitation to, anyway?” asked Beldin.

“It’s a costume party,” said Ilmarė.

A clanking man-sized marionette swung into view, blocking their path to the room beyond.

“He’s going as a puppet? Stupid costume,” said Cal.

Ilmarė knocked an arrow. “Take it out! We’ve got to stop Ambrose before he finishes making that orrery!”

The marionette winched forward as Cal and Beldin advanced on it, axes raised.

“You know the routine Cal,” said Beldin, shield raised. “You go high…”

Cal hacked at the marionette’s head, slicing downwards. It spun sideways, but not fast enough to avoid the blow.

“And I’ll go low!” shouted Beldin. He rushed forward, swiping his axe towards the marionette’s torso. It smacked upwards so hard it hit the ceiling.

“Too easy,” said Cal.

Then the marionette swung back, whirling as it went. It gashed open Cal’s arm and hit Beldin’s shield so hard that it knocked him backwards.

An arrow ricocheted off of the marionette’s head.

The big lizard crouched and slapped the marionette with his tail. It spun sideways, its blade ricocheting off of the ceiling.

Cal raised his huge axe up to finish the marionette off. Then he froze in place.

“Cal?” asked Beldin.

The marionette stopped flopping around awkwardly. It moved with all the precision of a man. Mimicking Ilmarė’s throw from before, it hurled its curved blade at Beldin.

Beldin ducked as the blade SPTANG-ed off of the dwarf’s shield.

“There’s someone else in the room!” shouted Ilmarė. “There!”

Beldin got a glimpse of a portly, balding man with a wide grin. Then the room burst with gray sticky strands.

[talien]

Beldin struggled in the web. He reached for his smaller hand axe and began hacking at it.

“Cal!” shouted Beldin.

Cal was trapped within the webs, but he had been frozen long before that by Khorbon’s magic. Another smaller creature, a gnome, was in the opposite corner, dressed in yellow robes and wearing a pallid mask. It was the gnome who cast the web. Behind them, Ilmarė was completely concealed by the strands.

The marionette started spinning backwards, entwining the chains that held it up. Beldin knew what was coming next. He hacked more urgently at the strands.

The marionette’s whirling slowed to a stop. Then, with its blade outstretched, it began to whirl clockwise, faster and faster.

The marionette was spinning so fast that it hummed. Its arms and legs had transformed into a blurring top. All that Beldin could make out was the outstretched blade, which was visible as a steel-colored smear at the outer edge of the marionette whirlwind.

“Cal, wake up!” shouted Beldin.

“This is going to be grand,” said Khorbon. “The Unspeakable One will be so pleased when we arrive at his party.”

The gnome giggled. “Now give us the invitation.”

The marionette whirled closer. Web strands began snapping off one at a time.

“Ilmarė has it,” said Beldin. “And she’s on the other side of your web.”

“No problem,” said Khorbon. “We’ll just let the marionette clear a path.” He grinned. “After it cuts through you of course.”

“Cal!” shouted Beldin. He was barely able to insert his shield between the marionette and the web.

The marionette’s blade began searing through the shield, shooting sparks everywhere. The shriek of metal on metal was deafening.

Beldin’s shield was slowly, painfully, pushed out of the way from the force of the marionette’s attack. The sparks edged closer to his face.

“CAL!”

All Beldin could see over his shield was Khorbon’s face. He was looking up at something in fear.

Inside his helmet, Beldin smiled. He knew what Khorbon was looking at: one big, pissed off lizard.

[talien]

With a roar, Cal tore out of the sticky strands. He hit the marionette with his axe so hard that it snapped free from its moorings and smashed into the giggling gnome. They both lay crumpled in a heap.

Cal’s earflaps were spread wide and his pupils dilated. He bared his fangs and roared again.

“Cal!” shouted Beldin. “The web! Cut me down!”

Another mighty swing dropped Beldin to his feet.

“Now,” said the dwarf, advancing on Khorbon. “You and I have some unfinished business.”

Khorbon pulled a flute from his robes. “Yes we do,” he replied. “I don’t think you’ve heard the Unspeakable One’s call. Let me play you a few notes, you can dance to it.” He put his lips to the flute.

A throwing axe shivered in Khorbon’s chest before he could finish.

“Dwarves don’t dance,” said Beldin.

Khorbon fell on his face, dead.

Ilmarė finished burning her way through the webs. She looked thoroughly irritated.

There was a crash as a large white and red blur, armed with an axe larger than Cal’s, slammed into the big lizard. They struggled back and forth, two axe hafts pressed against each other.

“What the hell is that?” asked Beldin.

“That,” said Ilmarė, “is Ambrose’s costume.”

[talien]

The clockwork minotaur had a head formed of painted carousel horses, separated it into two halves. Portions of other horses were added to widen the whole thing. A pair of gilt unicorn horns jutted from its head. A great many ornaments--metal roses and fine brass fittings--were worked into the head so they spun and moved to draw the eye. The ears turned this way and that. Its fine mane was made of curtain tassels that tossed to and fro as it walked. The minotaur wore a cloak made of red velvet curtains on its back.

It tossed Cal off like a ragdoll. Before the ss’ressen could react, the clockwork minotaur slashed outwards with its axe. Cal spun backwards, face first into the webbing. He hung there, dripping blood.

Beldin snarled. “Never seen anything like it,” he said, drawing his morningstar. “It’s got to have a weak spot.”

“Beldin, no!” shouted Ilmarė.

Beldin smashed his morningstar into the minotaur’s knee with both hands. The blow should have at least chipped it.

There was a terrible creak as the minotaur’s head swiveled to look down at Beldin.

“Magnificent,” was all the dwarf got out. Then it backhanded him, swatting Beldin into the webbing.

The clockwork minotaur turned its head again. It focused on Ilmarė. The minotaur whirred to life, stomping towards her one plodding step at a time.

“We can’t beat it,” said Ilmarė, her eyes wide. “We can’t…wait!” She fumbled in her pack as the albino minotaur advanced towards her. It was so close that she could hear the ticking of its gears.

She found it.

Ilmarė thrust the invitation up over her head. “Ambrose, I have your invitation!”

The clicking continued, but nothing happened.

“Well, why didn’t you say so?” said Ambrose.

Ilmarė peeked out behind the note. The clockwork minotaur’s axe was inches from the note, stopped in mid-swing.

Ambrose climbed into his orrery. As the globes whirled about, the patterns of their movement created a force that pushed the orrery off the ground. Ambrose pushed the bellows on the massive heads to push it towards Ilmarė.

“Now I can go to my party!” said Ambrose. The orrery silently floated over to the clockwork minotaur’s back. He tapped it once with a tool, and the back opened up. Then Ambrose got in it.

The minotaur immediately whirled to life. It lowered the axe, turned around, and stepped onto the orrery.

Ilmarė peeked into the room. A glowing portal was at its center.

Beyond the portal, she could make out a city with strange, alien towers. It loomed over a misty lake. A rising moon appeared to be in front of the towers instead of behind it. And when she looked upon it, she knew.

“Carcosa,” whispered Ilmarė.

The flying orrery, the clockwork minotaur, and Ambrose floated through the portal. It winked closed and was no more.

[talien]

Ilmarė stood there for an eternity. Someone put a hand on her shoulder.

It was Quintus. He was wearing clothes that were not his. Several of the Sea Lord’s guard stood behind him. Some were tending to Cal and Beldin’s wounds. The webs had long since melted away.

“They’re dead,” said Quintus. He kicked Khorbon’s corpse. “Good. Looks like you didn’t need our help.” He addressed Ilmarė with a slight smile, but she knew it was all a bluff. He had been through too much to not be disappointed. Quintus would have killed Khorbon with his bare hands if he had the chance.

A guard handed Quintus a rolled up piece of parchment. He unrolled it. “Looks like the plans to build some kind of crushing machine,” he said. “I wonder what he was building it for?”

Ilmarė finally found her voice. “They were stringing Ambrose along, promising him an invitation to a party,” she said. “Whatever he built for them, it was not meant to be in our world.

“Well, he’s gone now. And the Brotherhood of the Yellow Sign is either dead or fled.” Quintus encompassed the room with a sweep of one hand. “I will help the priests of Illiir rebuild this place. That’s the best revenge of all.”

Ilmarė was silent.

“What’s wrong?”

“I delivered the note to Ambrose,” she said. “But now I’m not so sure that I should have.”

“Why?” said Quintus. “He’s gone. Khorbon’s dead. The Brotherhood is scattered. What more is there?”

“I just can’t help but wonder,” said Ilmarė, looking over her shoulder at where the portal once was. “What happens when Ambrose gets to that party?”

[talien]

This adventure, “Adventus Regis,” is converted from the Miskatonic University Library Association monograph, "Ripples from Carcosa," written by Oscar Rios. You can buy the adventure at: http://catalog.chaosium.com/product_...roducts_id=640. You can read more about Arcanis at http://www.onaraonline.org. Please note: This adventure contains spoilers!

Our cast of characters includes:

· Beldin Soulforge (dwarf fighter) played by Joe Lalumia
· Bijoux (fihali druid) played by Melissa Gendron
· Calactyte (ss’ressen barbarian) played by Joe Tresca
· Ilmarė Galen (elf bard/fighter) played by Amber Tresca
· Kham Val’Abebi(val rogue/psychic warrior) played by Jeremy Ortiz (http://www.ninjarobotstudios.com)
· Sebastian Arnyal (dark-kin sorcerer) played by George Webster

Michael Tresca (that’s me) was Dungeon Master for this session.

I pulled out all the stops for this adventure: cardboard props, music from Requiem for a Dream, chocolate coins, Mega Miniatures’ Town Folk (I used them in groups of eight) and liberal use of my Battle Box from Fiery Dragon Productions. Did I mention I love my Battle Box?

I didn’t tell the players that this was a Call of Cthulhu adventure, but it didn’t take long for them to become completely freaked out. I should point out that this adventure is fairly disturbing, which helped put our PCs in some moral quandaries. As my brother is fond of putting it, “this is SO Resident Evil.”

I tried a bunch of different writing styles with this story hour. There are references to several of Campbell’s King in Yellow stories (specifically, what happens to Cal and Kham). The descriptions of the byakhee are straight from Lovecraft’s “The Festival.” And of course, there are the verses from Blish’s “More Light” version of the play. It’s a bit difficult to understand what’s going on without the context of the play itself. After all, this adventure kicks off a horrible inevitability—the birth of the King in Yellow, a play that drives to madness all who witness it.

The end fight was a tough battle, but perfectly balanced…a rarity. Fortunately, they did not take on the Avatar of Has--I mean the Unspeakable One. But then, any day when you can put down two byakhee (two very large, advanced byakhee) is a good day indeed.

[talien]

UOHT: You have been looking at Carcosa again.

CASSILDA: No…Nobody can see Carcosa before the Hyades rise. I was only looking at the lake of Hali. It swallows so many suns.

UOHT: And you will see it swallow so many more. These mists are bad for you; they seep into everything. Come inside.

--The King in Yellow: Act One

Though Grand Coryan was the center of the Empire and arguably the most exciting city in the known world, it was good to get away, and the trip promised to be a wonderful vacation. Taking a luxurious river barge up the Corvis River, Ilmarė arrived at the town of Vestalanium.

To her surprise, Cal and Bijoux were on the barge as well.

“What are you doing here?” she asked. They were easy to spot in a crowd, and on a crowded ship they were impossible to ignore.

“Quintus invited us,” said Bijoux. “Sebastian is here as well, below decks.”

Ilmarė arched an eyebrow. “Quintus didn’t say anything about any of you.”

Calactyte tilted his saurian head to look quizzically at the Elorii. “You are sad he’s not here?”

“I didn’t say that,” she snapped back at the big lizard.

Sebastian joined them shortly thereafter. “I didn’t know you were on board,” he said in his usual half-whisper. “Dodging trouble?”

“What makes you say that?” asked Ilmarė.

“Because that’s what I’m doing,” said Sebastian. “Beldin sent for me. It seems that Elabac has summoned the best and brightest of Solanos Mor once again to train his replacement. Beldin wishes to have no part of it. Vestalanium seems to be a good excuse to lay low until a successor is chosen.”

Known for being one of the most exclusive of all Coryan resort towns, Vestalanium was nestled amid rolling green hills dotted with date and olive orchards.

“Quintus sent for us as well,” said Bijoux. “We were attacked in Freeport. He thought it best that we spend a week in Vestalanium until things settle there.”

“Hopefully, Dril and Vlad can handle the Brotherhood,” said Ilmarė. The Milandisian and Altherian had journeyed northwards to Freeport to keep an eye on Brother Egil and Lucius. “As for me, I’m taking a well-deserved vacation. I did a favor for a senator.”

“One doesn’t just get into Vestalanium,” said Sebastian. “Quintus pulled some serious strings.”

The level of exclusivity of the town was evident as soon as they arrived. Just after dark, slaves and servants of the resort villa of Ravulus met them at the docks. They were loaded onto a littler with their baggage and carried to the resort. Double the amount of slaves were assigned to the big ss’ressen.

They were shown to beautiful rooms, given a glass of fine wine, and then slept upon a marvelously comfortable bed.

It was the best rest Ilmarė had in a long time.