Story HourPost your ongoing tales from your campaigns, and read those from others for inspiration. Lots of other RPG boards post "Story Hours", but this is where it started!
And indeed, there was cake. Dark cake. Foul, vile cake, as evil as...something very evil indeed.
BURNE HAS A GIFT FOR METAPHOR.
"Devil's Food Cake" of the most bleakly literal sort, in fact.
MATCHED ONLY BY HIS CUDGEL-LIKE WIT.
But I get ahead of myself.
In basic appearance, this underground chamber was not unlike a typical church. Rather darker than the norm, and with more than the usual number of dismembered corpses scattered about, but for all that, none too unusual.
There were no pews, of course, or even -- as more usual in a temple of Kruetzel -- a central buffet table. But there were alcoves to either side, and I strode boldly towards the altar I could not help but glance into these openings as I passed them.
In each, there was a painting. The central figure in these portraits was the Bishop, whose face I recognized from the statue which had formerly stood above the entrance. He was surrounded by children, capering and prancing in an inspidly joyful fashion. While I am no art critic (being, rather, a man with a valid reason for drawing breath each morning)...
IF YOU CONSIDER PRACTICING BIGOTRY OR A PORNOGRAPHIC OBSESSION WITH FIRE
VALID, THEN YES.
...these paintings seemed crudely done, at best. Proportions were wrong, perspective all but non-existant, and the colors flat and poorly-chosen.
As I continued on, glancing from side to side at each pair of paintings, my steps slowed without my full awareness. In each case, the paintings improved between one alcove and the next. And at the same time, they became much, much worse.
Technically, yes, they were beautiful. By the time I came to the last set of paintings, they had become stunningly realistic. No, better than merely "realistic". They seemed sharper, more clear, more perfect than mere reality could ever aspire to be.
THE ONLY REALITY THAT I ASPIRE TO IS OBLIVION.
But the subjects of these paintings! I consider myself a strong man, one unburdened by sentiment or pathos. But these pictures...well, I cannot remember them without shuddering.
The Bishop himself grew steadily larger, more sinister, and less human with each successive painting. His kindly smile became a leering grin, his outstretched hand grasping claws. The children continued to dance, and their expressions changed little from painting to painting...but their dance became more and more frantic, and somehow their joy became outright terror.
They grew thinner as well, like victims of famine. And they began to lose...things. Extremeties, at first. Then entire limbs. And then whole sections of their bodies, bitten away in bloody chunks.
But in the paintings closest to the altar, three new figures were shown. Three women, beautiful of form, with wings. Their faces could not be seen, but somehow it was obvious that the three were sisters.
And one last painting stood leaning against the altar itself. It showed the Bishop, once more shrunken in stature to the height of a normal man, being led by the women through a dark archway.
The altar itself was oddly simple; a thing of graceless stone. Atop it sat a silver tea set of exquisite worksmanship, a small prism-shaped stone, and a silver tray. And atop the tray was a piece of cake.
Cake that Meiji was eying with an unhealthy interest.
Moving the foreigner aside with a fierce glare, I glanced into the teapot. It was brimming with a black liquid, that seemed almost like blood in consistency. Not, I thought to myself, a good sign.
I could not dwell upon this dubious beverage, however, as my eye was suddenly caught by something of even greater import. Behind the altar, between two stone columns, was an archway identical to that shown in the final painting. And that archway was filled with a field of... nothing, a kind of energized emptiness, cold and lustreless black in color.
"Meiji," I asked, abstractedly, "Would you mind touching that void for me? In the interest of scientific inquiry?"
The coward made no direct reply, instead wondering aloud what flavor of frosting that the cake might have.
"The flavor of corruption," I opined, "And of evil."
"Not chocolate, then?" he replied, sounding disapointed.
Joachim, even more appalled than usual, was wandering about the chamber with a look of horror upon his face. That a member of his own church could have been so vile, so debased? It shook his faith, I think, and more than a little.
Good for him.
I snapped my fingers to catch his attention, and then directed him to go to the Temple of Kruetzel post-haste. "Your superiors," I informed him, "Should be told of this. Perhaps they can shed some light upon the subject. Go and fetch them, forthwith."
Interlude: As The Bishop said to the Pyromaniac....
<in the old monastery courtyard on Opium Way, Little Ajakhan, Narayan:CITY, just past sunset>
“What lies beneath has many names; Tonjours Faim, Faim Gauche, EfFame Gauche, Mauvasie Faim or simply The Bad Hunger. It is a fragment of an Elder Demon God.”
“It. Couldn’t. Just. Be. A. Piece. Of. Cake. Could. It?” purrs Abraxis the mechanical famulus, to himself.
“It alone was responsible for the corruption of Father Sebastien Babulaba, the former master of this place. Well, perhaps not ‘alone’… I suppose his inherent wickedness had something to do with it. But that’s neither here nor there.”
The man speaking, the retired Archbishop Bartolemiou Bien-Bodhi, hurriedly summoned from the cloisters at Great Temple of Kruetzel on Cavalry Hill, beckons to one of his silent retinue and proceeds to lean heavily against him. He casts a long, slow, sad glance over the ruined statue’s base, and the gaping hole in the ground partially covered by wooden planks hastily gathered by King Daikon.
"This must be sealed. And quickly." says the ancient priest. "No one must find out about what lies beneath these stones. This must be kept secret."
"That's why you brought a baker's dozen of lackeys with you, then?" says Mallus Lovesworn, emerging from the shadows behind one of the produce stalls. "Secrecy in numbers, eh?”
The former archbishop hisses "My men will tell no tales, for they are not men. They are the Risen". Before Mallus can respond, Bartolemiou pinches the guard’s check, and remarkably, comes away with a small piece of his dark flesh.
"Behold." he says, as Mallus recoils, "What, you don't like pumpernickel? They are bread golems, fired by my God's own grace. Not the sharpest knives in the kitchen, but they'll fight until the last of their yeast is gone."
"But it is true that we cannot do this alone. If only Mr. Darkheart was here. He was a member of the Brotherhood of the Black Worm and a most puissant master of the Ineffable Arts. Or even his apprentice. We turned to them the last time the Hunger made itself known. When its pangs were felt, you could say…”
“If. You. Were. An. Idiot.” observes Abraxis, sotto voce.
“…he would know what to do, how to seal the Hunger in again, just like he did the first time.”
“Since when do Kruetzel’s commandments include ‘Thou shall cover up’ and ‘Thou shall rely on diabolists’?” asks Mallus. “I thought you were the good guys, I mean, as far as organized religions go.”
“It was a different time then, it was during the Troubles. Narayan was swarming with Hannikum refugees fleeing the famine there; freed slaves, starving bondsmen, heretics the Priest-King emptied from his jails. We had race riots, faith riots, and on every corner Hannikum preachers denouncing CITY’s gods as demons. If word has gotten out that one of our priests in charge of an orphanage was worshipping a demon, that he abused children and actually ate a few of them… our temples would have been burnt to the ground. And then it would have been rough crumpets all around. It’s not like you can feed the poor a diet of obsidian knives. Besides, we tried to exorcise the shrine ourselves. It didn’t work.”
“The barrier appears to be in place” notes Lord Kenji, is a silken voice that suggests some deadly female courtesan dressed only in razor-edged unmentionables.
“I am afraid the black barrier below is meant to keep petitioners out, not the Hunger in. Did you not see the painting by the altar? Three demons leading Sebastian to his unholy assignation?" He pauses, “New petitioners will come. The Hunger will reach out to its kind again, unless we act, and act quickly. And Mr. Darkheart is long gone.”
"Didn't you say Darkheart had an apprentice? I mean, don't 'they' always? And aren't we really talking about a catamite?" asks Mallus.
"Yes." says the Bartolemiou. "I mean, no. I have no idea what Darkheart's...predilections... were, but he did have young student with him, name of Mephisophocles. A very serious boy with a serious cat."
“Who. Is. Currently. Hiding. Out. As. A. Department. Chair. In. The. University. Is. Meat. Inherently. Stupid?” asks Abraxis of himself.
"We need help, and yet we needs tell as few as possible. Only the most trusted, yes. We need to be subtle, and quick, and...."
He pauses again to survey the scene in the courtyard; Burne sketching a bizarre helmet-like apparatus in an available patch of dirt, Kenji-sama, staring furiously into space, as if trying to conjure up the specter of Nadir Akmad-Medhi to stab, Rackhir, looking both fierce and stoic after his draining twin brushes with sex and death, though not necessarily in that order, and Meiji, looking simultaneously alert, intrigued, and ready to hop the next ship for the Empire of the Three Pillars of Heaven
The archbishop slumps against his golem-at-arms with the force of a deflating souffle.
"... and we need a miracle."
Burne, after making a final and decisive scrawl, stands up and brushes off his hands. "Genius," he declares cheerfully. "My own brilliance never fails to astound me.”
“You know," he continues, "There's absolutely nothing that good Erisian craftsmanship can't accomplish! I tell you, this is a revolutionary idea, and...."
He trails off, abruptly registering the slumped form of the archbishop and the puzzled glare of Mallus. "It's...a helmet," he continues, weakly. "Protective measure, and all that. Really, quite, quite...."
Burne sighs. "Yes, well. Obviously we have other concerns, eh? We'll have to track Mephisophocles down, one way or another. And I? I have yet another brilliant idea!"
A pause, for dramatic effect. "We will track him...through his familiar!"
Burne pivots neatly in place, with military precision. "Abraxis! To me!"
The mechanical cat looks up from Burne's sketch, which it appears to have been studying with some faint interest. "Master. How. May. I. Be. Of. Service?" it asks, in a resigned tone.
"Abraxis, my famulus! I shall need you to infiltrate the local feline community!"
Another long pause. Not, this time, for dramatic effect.
"Beg. Pardon. Master?" One wouldn't have thought it possible for a mechanical cat to sound so appalled. But once again, Burne manages to astound.
What else would you call golems made out of bread?
So... how does everyone like the recent turn of events, now that CITY is beginning to resemble an actual D&D game, what with the revelation of an ancient evil (in a manner of speaking) and a villainous mind-bending magician (who's still quite alive, much to the players chagrin)?
Coming soon: more battles, more spell slinging, ninja, pirates, and a serious discussion concerning the nature of knowledge with a mysterious woman that Meiji tries to sleep with.
__________________ "We're pimps and killers, but in a philanthropic way." -- Boyd, Dollhouse.
...and a villainous mind-bending magician (who's still quite alive, much to the players chagrin)?
Speak for the others. I'm quite fond of him as a player, and have a fair degree of respect for him as a PC. Not that it'd stop Meiji from trying to make his head explode, of course, or more likely, put him in a position where he could be alternately shot, stabbed and fireballed by the rest.
Quote:
Coming soon: more battles, more spell slinging, ninja, pirates, and a serious discussion concerning the nature of knowledge with a mysterious woman that Meiji tries to sleep with.
What do you mean 'tries'? Just because I can't actually prove it, or remember it, doesn't mean it didn't happen. I'm still pretty sure that we made the beast with two ... sorry, in this case ... three backs.
__________________ shilsen is broken - Crothian (and this is why)
My Eberron Story Hour. Updated November 12. Almost at the climax!
A Misadventure, a Meal, and a Medical Intervention
While the others flailed about, trying to determine some method for dealing with the looming crisis, I kept my head. Indeed, I formulated a plan of sublime brilliance, which would merely have required some minor effort on the part of my lackeys...but alas, they proved too lazy to follow my lead.
BURNE WANTED ME TO FIND MEPHISOPHOCLES' FAMILIAR, DOUBTING THOMAS, BY PRETENDING TO BE AN 'ORGANIC' CAT AND INTERROGATING THE LOCAL POPULATION OF STRAYS. HE NEEDED RACKHIR TO HUNT A CAT FOR HIM, AND KENJI TO SKIN THE CREATURE AND TURN IT INTO A SUIT THAT I COULD WEAR. MEIJI WAS SUPPOSED TO DO THE SEWING, I THINK. NEVER MIND THAT I DON'T SPEAK CAT, DOUBTING THOMAS IS NOT -- AND HAS NEVER BEEN -- AN ACTUAL CAT. HE SHOULD ONLY BE SO LUCKY.
So be it. The Archbishop choose to commune with Kruetzel over what he should do, and the others rather limply agreed to await a response before taking any sort of decisive action. Rackhir was rather put out by this, as Joachim had promised some ritual that would have cured him of the lingering weakness from his recent resurrection and said ritual would now have to be delayed, but he accepted the situation somewhat stoically.
In the meantime, we had a matter of business that needed to be addressed. We had recently learned from Daikon that the monastery would soon be coming up for open auction, and -- as we clearly had an interest in the place -- had determined that it would be a good idea if we were to be the winning bidders. To this end, we set out to visit one M.P. Menboob, Legate of the Little Ajakhan Autonomous Ethnic Zone, to see if we could...exercise some influence upon his decision.
THREATEN HIM, IN OTHER WORDS.
Alas, matters did not go as planned. The legate had a surprising number of well-armed and armored guards, and matter quickly became surprisingly tense. Kenji was on the verge of drawing his sword and striking the man down for some imagined insult, but chose instead to invite him to dine with us the next morning. I shall never understand that man's thought processes, although I eagerly anticipate someday dissecting his frontal lobe in an attempt to do so.
This inexplicably accomplished, we all went our separate ways for the time being. I had work to do, now that the plans for the incredible Burne's Thermoreactive Cerebric Barrier had leaped fully-formed into my mind....
SUCH AS IT IS.
...and Kenji had to polish his nails, or something similar. Meiji, for his part, was determined to investigate the 'Gate Lantern' that we had recovered some months ago, and decided to go off to some remote location in order to do so. He asked Rackhir to accompany him upon this errand, and the archer -- displaying an appalling lack of common sense and short-term memory -- agreed to do so. I dismissed them with a wave, morbidly certain that it was the last time I would be seeing Rackhir alive.
Some hours passed, as I began my work. I used my old helmet as the framework, and the remaining ligaments of the Rast to act as a liner. I found that creating the mana filter was more tricky than I had anticipated, and was forced....
Well. No sense in giving away trade secrets, eh?
NOT THAT THEY WOULD MAKE ANY SENSE TO ANYONE WHO IS NOT UNFORTUNATE ENOUGH TO BE BURNE.
Meiji and Rackhir returned at some point late in the day. The archer was looking disheveled and bloody, and was glaring at Meiji even more than usual, so I could only assume that matters had gone better for him than I had anticipated. Humbly, they asked the benefit of my expertise upon certain subjects that had troubled them, and I cheerfully agreed to accompany them on their excursion upon the morrow. Learning that I would have access to the corpses of both a giant scorpion AND a six-limbed primate was merely the icing on the cake.
The next morning, we all set out to meet with this Menboob fellow at the Palm d'Whorl. The food was excellent, the company less so. But nevertheless, infromative! Menboob seemed to be making a number of assumption about how much we already knew, and I was all too glad to play along. My companions, for a change, were canny enough to play along. As it transpired, the entire Little Ajikhan district was due to be...well, redistricted. There was profit to be made, and undesirable foreigners to be dispossessed and relocated. I found myself nodding along at this eminently sensible scheme, until Menboob mentioned the mastermind behind it all.
Lord Nitin Philippe. Father of the late Savur Philippe.
Reluctantly, I realized that we would have to oppose his plans, simply on principle. Without principles, after all, what are we?
BURNE.
Happily, Menboob jumped to the conclusion that we were merely the representatives of another, more political powerful individual, and offered us a deal. We could get in on the 'ground floor' of this upcoming property auction, which was far more extensive than Diakon knew, and make ourselves one of the powers of the new district.
A tempting offer indeed, and we parted ways with Menboob in a very thoughtful mood....
The plan had been to return to the sight of Meiji and Rackhir's experiments, and for me to provide them with guidance and insight into their investigations. And perhaps to detonate any untoward results of same. But our way took us past 'The Chapel', the tavern and temple of our old friend the Reverend Don 'Magic Wand', and the excited babblings of the crowd gathered outside the place caught out attention.
We shouldered our way through the crowd, and found ourselves facing one of the Reverend's deacons...a man who was delighted when he recognized us. From what I could glean of his frantic babbling, a sandstorm had swept through the tavern, leaving the reverend unconscious and unresponsive in its wake. And indeed, 'Magic Wand' did not look at all well. He was stretched out upon the ground, a blank look upon his face, staring unblinkingly up at the ceiling.
Kicking the sand away -- sand which, I astutely noticed, faded away in mid air rather than falling back to the ground -- Meiji muttered something in his barbaric tongue and touched the Reverend's chest. There was a sharp crackle, and the smell of ozone filled the air as the Reverend sat straight upright and made an attempt to punch Meiji in the nose.
- Crothian (and 
Linear Mode
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