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!
Story hour really helps me remember key events - thanks. Looking forward to this weekend and dealing with the repercussions of Markos killing 1/2 the group.
I loved Out of the Frying Pan and I am finally getting into your new story hour (new for me).
I'm still in the early sessions, but its all great so far! I really like the party and the way you set up the adventuring charter. I will hopefully catch up in a week or two. I just wanted to emerge out of my typical lurker status and voice my appreciation.
Thanks for the story
C.I.D.
__________________ Journey into the world of the Spire and the Abyss! A 4e Campaign based around airships and exploration of a recovering world.
Sorry it has been so long since an update. Between the end of the semester, holiday season, being very sick and just not being in a D&D head lately the writing has suffered.
However, I am slowly (slowly) making progress on writing up Session #18 and when that is done I will post the first part of #17 (which is already done and waiting).
We have not played a session since December 9th, but our next session is scheduled for a week from tomorrow (the 20th of January), and hopefully will continue on every 2 weeks from there as normal.
The Signers of the Charter of Schiereiland stood before a shallow pond of brackish water that was lined with tall flat ridges of stone entwined with sickly gray vines with yellowing fronds. At the center of the water stood a black obelisk of six sides that came to a point. Each face of it was etched in deep runes that were similar to the style they had seen on the mask signposts that led them here.3 It was over twenty feet tall.
“Is this like some kind of holy place for the locals?” Timotheus asked.
“There are no locals,” Bleys replied in his baritone. He was looking intently at the obelisk.
“The mummy cult?” Timotheus asked, but no one answered.
“Well, let’s take a closer look,” Victoria began to march out across the shallow water, and Bleys and Laarus followed. Timotheus had Falco and Dunlevey come with him to scout out the rows of stone around the pond.
“In context like this, it is easier to read the runes,” Laarus said, and he began to translate them aloud. They were carved inches deep into the stone, and Victoria examined them closely, puzzled by their design.
The priest of Ra, read the southern face:
Those crossing deeps to gain the ground. May fall as biting fear is found.
The southwestern face read: One’s days can ne’er be forged anew, But magic may give great their due.
They heard Timotheus call out a warning. Dunlevey had spotted something white move between some stones. Falco and Timotheus moved to join him, Tim noticing some kind of form wrapped in strips of dirty white. He moved in that direction, as Falco swung out to get a possible shot with his bow. Distracted, they did not notice another of the creatures crouched behind a stone near Dunlevey. The sell-sword cried out as he felt something grab him from behind. It was a man. Or was it? Squat and muscular it was covered in strips of loose hanging white bandages made gray by dirt and bits of leaves and sticks stuck on it. It moaned in an inhuman voice, rheumy deep-set eyes looking out from the folds. It had powerful arms that it locked around Dunlevey, and the hireling could feel the bandages adhere to him tightly; he was stuck like a fly in molasses.4
The first creature they had spotted popped out from behind a stone near Falco, having crept back around. The scout let an arrow loose, but blundered in his alarm, and the missile went wide. He reeled as the strange mummy slammed him in the face with heavy black fist. The thing’s hands were not covered in the dirty bandages.
“Get up here! It’s mummies! They’ve got Dunlevey!” Timotheus cried, dropping his saber to draw a dagger.
“Sagitta aquom” Markos cast his magic missile spell sending two bolts of watery blue light slamming into the creature.5
As Victoria of Anhur took up her spear and charged around the ring of rocks to get in sight of scrum, Telémahkos crept around, staying out of view and loading his crossbow, and Tymon stayed close mimicking his master. Bleys the Aubergine withdrew to Markos’ position, Crusta cringing behind the tanned mage in her gray smock. The watch-mage took a shot at the creature harassing Falco. He missed. Timotheus Smith wrapped a beefy arm about the grappling mummy’s neck, and tried to pull out one of the creature’s legs with his own, to send it to the ground. He stabbed hard with the dagger, but felt the awkward jerk as the point scraped through the loose bandages drawing yellow pus from beneath. The dagger was now stuck to the creature, and Tim could not pull it free. It was then that he realized two things. The first was that the ‘mummy’ was not wrapped in bandages at all, the loose dirty flaps were some kind of disgusting hide that covered the thing, and second being that he too was now stuck to it, adhered in place by the hide’s properties.
“May Ra’s holy light clear the darkness from this place!” Laarus of Ra chanted, drawing his flail as he did so. A golden beam of light flashed out of the sun and the mummy-creature attacking Falco moaned, as its shoulder began to smoke and the flappy hide began to roll back and blacken, revealing pink raw flesh beneath.
“Give us the shinies!” the creature hissed as it throttled Dunlevey, the bushy-haired hireling’s face darkening with each futile attempt to free himself.
”Get the Hells off of him!” Timotheus yelled, but he was stuck as well and his attempts to give Dunlevey a chance to lever himself free failed.
“Falco! Get out of there!” Bleys called to the scout, seeing the raven-haired man’s bloody face. He had been struck again, and again, each of his arrows doing no harm as they missed completely, or merely hung ineffectively, adhering to the false mummy.
Brimming with bull’s strength granted by Anhur, Victoria dropped her spear and grabbed one of the grappling creature’s arms to help free Tim and Dunlevey. In a moment, she was stuck and struggling as well, the four of them fell over into a squirming pile of desperate bodies, twisting and choking, their armor clanging against each other.
Another call to Ra to send the holy light of his glory down to strike the other ‘mummy’ failed, as the creature managed to sidestep when it noticed Laarus pointing at it. The ground sizzled for a moment and then the beam dissipated.
“Markos, you fool! Enlarge Dunlevey already!” Bleys called to Markos. The diminutive mage was making his way around to the melee from the other side of the pond, Crusta creeping along behind him. The watch-mage sent another arrow at the one following Falco, but it had little effect, hanging inertly amid its flaps of skin with the other arrows.
Falco withdrew as Telémahkos hurried back to his pack to get the Steel Whip, dropping Dunlevey’s longsword as he did so.6 Instead of continuing to follow, the ‘mummy’ ducked around the tall stones and slammed a fist down into Dunlevey’s face. The hireling was at the top of the sticky grappling pile still trying desperately to break free. “Someone help us!” he cried. Deep in the pile, the other creature managed to twist it body around making use of its loose skin, and pressed a forearm down on Timotheus’ neck. Tim coughed out a stream of raspy profanity, as he clawed ineffectively to get the arm off of him.
Laarus of Ra moved in, flail swinging over his head to drive the free mummy-thing away from the scrum, flicking away the punches of the creature with the weapon’s head.
“What are you doing? Get in there!” Bleys admonished Telémahkos finding the blond Briareus crouched behind a rock again, rapier tucked into his belt. The watch-mage hurried by and took up Victoria’s longspear. Markos finally came around the stones and could not suppress a laugh when he saw the scrambling scrum, but seeing that Laarus was now grappled and stuck to the other creature, he cried out. “Don’t be stubborn, cousin! Say the word!”
”Do it now!” Laarus replied, and a few moments later the priest of Ra began to grow so rapidly there was a sickening rip as the false mummy fell loose, leaving narrow strips of its sticky bandage-like hide on Laarus’ armor.
“One… Two…Three!” Victoria, Dunlevey and Timotheus were trying to concert their efforts to free themselves. Timotheus had managed to reach up and squeeze the thing’s neck until it stopped moving, but they were still stuck. Now having scuttled over closer to a rock, they were trying to gain leverage with their feet. They were covered in muck, blood and broken reeds, flailing in about eight inches of scummy water.
“Can’t you use magic to free us?” Timotheus asked Bleys, but Bleys did not answer. Instead he called for Tymon to join the fight with the other creature as he ran forward and thrust at it with Victoria’s spear. Telémahkos had finally gathered the courage to tumble out from behind the stone and try to flank the creature with Laarus. Falco had leapt up onto a stone and was loosing an arrow whenever he had a clear shot, which was not often.
“Does someone have a torch or something? Maybe we can burn this thing off,” Timotheus called out, obviously frustrated with their inability to free themselves from the false mummy glue.
The remaining ‘mummy’ ran towards the pond, and Laarus took the opportunity to slam his enlarged flail into it back as it fled. The head of the great weapon stuck to the creature even as it crunched flesh and bone beneath. With a violent jerk, the monster hurried away, and the flail tore free.
“Keep shooting it!” Bleys commanded Falco and Tymon, though their bolts and arrows seemed to be doing little. He planted Victoria’s spear head first into the muck and drew his bow off his back, and let loose another arrow that went wide as the thing weaved to avoid Laarus. The priest’s great height and girth had given it momentary cover. Telémahkos ran in from the other side, flicking a dagger at it that splashed into the water and disappeared.
Victoria of Anhur roared with the righteous fury of her god and after a few hard frustrating jerks managed to free herself of the jumble of bodies and hurried out to the pond to join the melee, taking up her spear as she passed it. Timotheus and Dunlevey continued to rock back and forth in place trying to get free. Tim was so desperate he called over Crusta to aid them, as Markos had joined the others to take care of the final grappling adherer.
“You’re not my boyfriend anymore!” Crusta complained, putting her face real close to Tim’s to leer at him.
“Please help?” Timotheus tried more kindly.
The half-orc witch pushed them closer to a rock and Dunlevey grabbed it while she grabbed Tim’s arm, bracing a foot against the stone and pulled.
As Victoria skirted the pond to find the clear opening through the others surrounding the ‘mummy,’ moving as it moved, peppering it with arrows. Telémahkos cursed as he dove in to stab it with his rapier, but had to draw back with the steel whip still stuck to the creature. Taking its only opening the creature tried to run again, but Victoria had moved into place to block its exit. Markos cursed at Laarus for getting in the way of his clear shots. “You’re all hopeless!” Markos complained as the ‘mummy’ could not seem to be defeated.
Out of arrows, Falco drew his scimitar and joined the circle.
“Don’t let it get away with our weapons!” Telémahkos warned.
Another devastating blow from Laarus and once again his flail was stuck to the thing. As it stumbled back from the blow, the priest lost his grip and the weapon shrunk back to normal size, still hanging from the thing. Bleys cursed a moment later when his saber was also hanging from it, having abandoned his bow again. Finally freed, Dunlevey came rushing over, great sword in his hands, the false mummy made one last attempt to flee, and ducking Laarus’ desperate swing, it popped up only to have Victoria’s spear slip under its chin and shove it back. There was a cascade of blood as the militant of Anhur torn her weapon free. As it collapsed dead, the red wash of its blood loosened the weapons stuck to it, and they could be retrieved. Still filled with rage, Victoria continued to smash and pierce the corpse with her spear, until she finally sank to her knees and let out a long low breath of relief.
“You’re pathetic,” Markos murmured to Timotheus when he walked over to see the tall warrior still trying to free himself with Crusta’s help.
“Boyfriend! Don’t be jealous!” Crusta cried, dropping Tim’s arm, to wrap her own around Markos’ neck lovingly.
“It’s okay, Crusta,” Markos replied, gently pulling her arms away. “We’re all friends here. We have to help each other.”
Timotheus was quickly freed using the blood of the other corpse, and then Markos slit the thing’s throat to make sure it was dead.
“And how many times did Markos hit that thing?” Timotheus asked Bleys, the mage’s comments had stung.
“None,” Bleys replied in flat tone, and Tim threw Markos a glare.
“Is this really what mummies are like?” Dunlevey asked, leaning on a stone.
“I don’t think these were real mummies, or even undead,” Laarus of Ra said. “Who know what kind of accursed men these once were, but from their guise I assume they are what were meant by the ‘cult of mummies’ Brother Cineas mentioned.”7
Victoria called on her god to close the wounds of Telémahkos and Dunlevey, while Laarus lent some of Ra’s graces to Falco.
Finally able to get back to examining the obelisk, Laarus finished translating the runes.
The southwestern face read: The immortal clock will never chime, for he who fears a simple climb.
“What is this crap?” Timotheus swore.
The north face read: The gold you give repays in kind. Give well when asked and safety find.
The northeast face read the same as the southwestern one. The northwestern face read: Desire for gold may secrets show, But giving stills the fatal blow.
“Hmmm, the climb one is mentioned twice?” Victoria mused after resting a few minutes to recover her strength.8 She examined the deeply carved runes once again, and then without further words began to climb the obelisk, using the runes as foot and handholds. At the top of the obelisk, the pointed top held two crystal lenses. One faced southeast and was much smaller, and the other faced northwest and was much bigger. They were both convex and clouded, and she could see nothing inside by putting her face to the bigger end. She called down, describing what she saw, and Bleys suggested she put her eye to the small lens and look in that way.
Scrambling over to the other side, she did as he suggested and the distant landscape was astonishingly magnified, revealing the moors as a gorgeous vista.
(4) Once again I am proud to use a monster from the 1E Fiend Folio, the best monster book ever! These are adherers, and the fact that they were used in the original adventure did a lot to convince me to incorporate it.
(5) Markos’ player (Martin Olarin on these boards) was unable to make it to this session, so all his actions and words are those of the DM as he was able to resist coming down with bog flu.
(6) Worried about ghouls and needing a slashing weapon, Telémahkos borrow Dunlevey’s long sword in Session #16.
(7) See Session #12
(8) Militants of Anhur are fatigued after using their righteous fury ability until they have rested a number of minutes equal to the number of rounds they were raging.
I also like the adherers. And the clues on the obelisk. I hope that you are able to get back into the swing of things after the holidays. I know it is hard for me.
Wow - I think those "mummies" were only mentioned in passing to me when told afterwards about the session. Considering how frustrating the encounter seemed while reading I'm not surprised Thanks for the update.
“It acts as a spyglass of sorts!” Victoria of Anhur called down with uncommon wonder in her voice. She noticed a silver arrow between the two lenses and followed it with her eyes. It revealed a lake set into a black hill surrounded by thick brush. It went back several miles.
“That must be where the tomb is,” she said as she climbed back down. Bleys had Falco climb up and look to get an idea of a route out to that place, while he produced the moor-tomb map and a quill. He had Laarus read the inscriptions again, and this time he wrote them down, next to a quick diagram of the obelisk itself.
“Pointed tower keyhole to tomb,” Laarus said, remembering the map. 1
“Well, we looked through the keyhole and now we know where the tomb is,” Timotheus said with a smile.
Soon after Falco began to lead them deeper into the moors to the northeast. The insects grew unbearable making itchy welts on their face and necks that burned in the wet heat if scratched at. At many points in the trek they had to wade though thigh-high muck, and cling to trees as they hurried along patches of what Falco thought might be quicksand. It was nearly three hours later that they broke through the tall thorny brush around the black hill to find a clearing and the placid lake. A gravel path led up to the lake edge and just beyond were five stone steps rising out of the water eighty feet in. They led to a marble pedestal that held a great stained bronze bowl of some sort that looked as it was once at the foot of a statue long broken off its base. Another eighty feet out past that was a metal door in an elaborate stone arch that was only reached by a narrow stone platform about five feet over the surface of the water. It led into the tall cliff wall of where a great oval bite had been taken out of the hill. The tops of the cliff walls were nearly one hundred and fifty feet up and crowned with sharp jagged rocks.
“Bes’ big-honkin’ cock!” Timotheus swore. “This looks like more magic stuff! Bah!”
“This is out of our league,” Telémahkos sighed.
“Why do you say that, Telémahkos? Who is to say what is in our league?” Markos asked.
“Yes, magic is involved,” Bleys said. “Dalvan Meir, was of House Amber, he changed his name after he was banished by his family, but before that he was Dalvan D’Amberville, and he served Agon the God-King. He ruled over the survivors and cast offs of Agon’s Realm after Agon was defeated by Sorlorn and Amarantha. He built this elaborate tomb to protect his remains and his treasure, and his followers mimicked him in the centuries that followed. There were once many such tombs to be found here, but most were long ago ransacked, or otherwise sunk into the swamp never to be found again…”
“If this is so simple we can handle it, why has no one else solved its riddles and made off with its treasures and the amulet of Fallon?” Telémahkos asked.
“I did not say it would be simple, but I still believe we can handle it,” Bleys replied.
“We have the clues to aid us from the obelisk,” Laarus added. “There are not many left who can read those runes…”
“You make a decent point, I guess…” Telémahkos’ voice still wore a tone of skepticism.
As it was getting dark and they were worried that they might be caught out in the open by more of the ‘mummy cultists’ as they took to calling the grappling adherers, they sent Falco off to find a defensible place to camp while they discussed the clues they had gathered so far.
“I bet we’re going to have to put money in that bowl out there,” Timotheus said.
“Desire for gold may secrets show, But giving stills the fatal blow,” Bleys the Aubergine read from the notes on his map. “My guess would be you are correct.”
Anulem, the 7th of Keent - 566 H.E. (637 M.Y.)
Uneasiness settled on them with the morning mist that cut down visibility to a few feet, and that roiled above their heads in and out of the speckled light of Ra’s Glory coming through the thicket they slept beneath. They groaned and stretched as they awakened upon the damp heather and prepared their return to the entrance to the tomb of Dalvan d’Amberville wordlessly.
They marched back and soon enough Markos and Timotheus were rowing Bleys and Laarus out to the steps and pedestal on the conjured boat.
“Which one is your boyfriend?” Crusta asked Victoria as the latter watched the cliff for any unexpected surprises.
“None of them,” Victoria replied. “They are my brothers in arms.”
”Bleys handsome…” Crusta said. “Tee-Kay soft and mean like a girl… Me likes that…” She smiled her smile of broken rotted teeth and cracked black lips. Victoria shuddered. “You should tell him that,” she said.
“Boyfriend would get jealous,” Crusta said.
“It is not our fault if men get jealous,” Victoria replied with dead seriousness.
Just below the bronze bowl, carved into the rock were more runes, and Laarus did his best to translate them: Respect this tomb, so firmly sealed / Most giving gain admittance / A noble gift will gain fair yield / A shocking due for pittance. The bowl had a hole in the bottom, and Telémahkos was called over to check the area for any traps. Markos fetched him in the boat, and Falco came along. The hole was not more than three inches in diameter and disappeared quickly to darkness sloping off to the north. They could hear a faint buzzing coming from the metal door across the water.
“One gold piece each sounds about right,” Laarus suggested.
“That is an expensive experiment,” Bleys commented, but no one had any other suggestion. Markos rowed back to the shore again to pick up Crusta, Victoria and Dunlevey. Upon arriving the militant prayed to Anhur to reveal magical auras to her sight, but aside from the Steel Whip, only the metal door across the way was enchanted. Telémahkos, Bleys, Timotheus and Dunlevey took the boat in two trips to the door and climbed up onto the stone platform, being careful not to touch the metal door. They could feel a slight tingling coming off of it, and from here the buzzing was distinct and constant. Bleys cast radiant spark and willed it to follow Tim. Markos waited in the boat by the steps, as Laarus stood over the bronze bowl with gold coins collected from those in the party that had any.
The priest of Ra began to drop the coins one by one and when he reached ten, those by the metal door heard a loud clank on the other side and then sound of stone scraping against stone just behind it. A few moments later there was another loud click and then the buzzing of the metal door stopped.
“Stop!” Bleys called back to Laarus, though the priest had already dropped an eleventh coin.
The watch-mage and the tall bastard of Briareus grabbed the handles of the sliding door and felt the sharp shock of electricity leap off of it and addle their bones. Gritting their teeth they raised the door as the pulse of sparks grew steadily greater along with the pain.
“Hurry up!” Timotheus said through his teeth. Laarus and Victoria leapt into the boat and were brought across, as Telémahkos did his best to quickly search the area just within the door. Beyond there was a tunnel carved with long steps downward, the rounded walls and ceiling dripping with moisture. He noticed a second door just within the metal one. This one was made of stone and over a foot thick. It must have been what they heard slide out of place when the coins were placed in the bowl. He warned everyone that they would have to leap deeper into the tunnel once the metal door was let go. When Laarus arrived and Markos went back to get Falco and Crusta, the priest switched places with Bleys who shuddered as he shook out the cramping pain in his limbs There were long painful moments before everyone had finally clambered up to the platform and gone past the door into the tunnel. 2 Laarus and Timotheus let go of the metal door with a grunt of relief, and then leapt away, as the thick stone door began to slide down to doubly block the way they had come in. The boom of it sliding into place echoed down the tunnel.
“That settles it then,” Telémahkos was startled by how loud his own whisper seemed in the corridor, he squinted into the shadowy illumination at the edge of the radiant spark. “Forward and onward, I guess…” He sounded anything but sure.
“Well, Master Bleys, I hope we find what we’re looking for,” Victoria of Anhur said with some consternation in her voice.
“And I hope we are let out as easily as we were let in.” Telémahkos added.
“Easy? Eleven pieces of gold is a good deal of money,” Bleys said with total seriousness.
Timotheus led the way, Bleys’ radiant spark still following over his shoulder. He was followed by Telémahkos, then came Laarus, Bleys, Tymon, Dunlevey, Victoria, Falco, and Markos and Crusta took up the rear. “Hey! What’s this?” Tim asked, noting that the natural stone walls gave was to a narrow strips of grooves in the rock that reached from floor to ceiling. Telémahkos yanked his cousin back with alarm and looked up. The ceiling here was not round as the rest of the passage, but flat at about the same width as the groove.
“We are going to have to hurry past this four foot strip,” said to the others. “I think this is another door that will slide down when we have passed this step. They did as he instructed, and as he suspected another wall of stone slid down blocking their egress. They had to go forward. Telémahkos hurried back to the front of the group again, and on they went.
And down and down they went. The passage turned and dropped, and after every eighty feet or so another stone wall would slide down behind them, pressing them forward and making their confines all the more oppressive. The uneasiness of morning had given way to a feeling of doom, though none wanted to put a name to it. When they counted six walls sliding in behind them, they made one last turn to find the glow of green light filling the passage from a room beyond. As Timotheus and Telémahkos came around that corner, they both noted another set of grooves in the wall and hurried everyone through. There was only a narrow piece of passage, about twenty feet of it that they squeezed into, hesitating before entering the actual green-lit chamber. Even back away from the entrance they could all sense a palpable evil that emanated from within.
Peering in they could see why the chamber glowed as it did. It was sixty-five feet to a side and just off center, emerging from the stone floor was a shard of green rock over eight feet tall. The green stone glowed dully in quick pulse, giving the room its light. The chamber’s ceiling was vaulted and the supporting arched held up by eight thick columns, a pair diagonally set in each corner. Between the columns on each wall were great plaques of the green stone mottled with black carved with ornate images of bones. The plaques were set into the wall a few feet from the floor and each one was about eight feet high and between three and four feet wide. But the most fascinating part of the room was the skeletons. There were eight of them in total, one in front of each column and wore a gold mask carved with a rune like those found on the trees. 3 Each skeleton was perfectly balanced in a different pose.
From right to left around the room: One was dancing arms stretched, and a scimitar in one hand, one sat, resting its head in it hands and its hand on its bony knees. It had a heavy steel shield resting on its shins, a longsword across its lap. The rune on its mask was not visible. The next was laying back, arms folded behind its skull, a scimitar lazily cast aside. The next stood perfectly straight, but its head was not on its neck. Instead it held its mask-bearing skull within a hole in its ribs. The next skeleton also wielded a scimitar, and was in a pose of fierce combat, while its neighbor bore a longsword and shield, cowering out from behind them. The last two were on the left. One held a great sword pointed up, clutched to its chest, while the last had a longspear and held it out with both hands, as if in offering.
“Can we smash those things up or are they some other kind of puzzle?” Timotheus asked.
“No one touch anything yet,” Bleys warned.
Laarus Raymer stepped up to the edge of the chamber entrance and did his best read the runes without entering. The first one was ‘happiness.’ He guessed the hidden one was ‘sadness.’ “Ya think?” Tim chided. There was ‘tranquility’ (or was it peace?), anger (or was it courage?) fear, avarice, and finally ‘generosity’ (or giving). He could not interpret the rune on the one that held its skull in its chest.
They noted that more runes were carved and painted onto the floor of the chamber in front of the strange glowing stone. Laarus translated these as well: What guise would you wager to gain my master’s favor? It leads to man’s grief at the end of my master’s leash.
“As there is no visible way out of the room, my guess would be that one of the masks must the key to getting past this,” Bleys speculated. Telémahkos began to creep into the room with the others close behind, the watch-mage reminding everyone once again to touch nothing, but it would not matter. Telémahkos had not gone more than six or eight steps into the chamber when green stone pulsed once with a sudden cold brightness. The skeletons sprang to some parody of life, stepping towards them with apparent hostile intention.
“Everyone form a line!” Timotheus commanded in a veteran’s voice that could not be disobeyed by those experienced in the rigors of melee. Laarus raised his shield and fended off a heavy blow from a scimitar that made his legs shake.
“I’m anchoring this end,” Dunlevey said, moving to the left side of the entrance, and was surprised by how quickly the skeleton with the long spear brought it to bear, and staggered when it slapped his side hard.
“There must be a way to deactivate this stone!” Markos hurried towards the stone and left himself open to the skeletons still marching over from the other side of the room. He cried out as a scimitar traced a line of red on his forearm. As another came around him, a third rushed forward, swinging a greatsword with silent fury. There was a jet of blood and Markos crumpled at the foot of the great green stone, dying. Crusta began to shriek.
“Hide girl!” Victoria called to Crusta as she dropped her longspear and drew her morningstar. She took her place in the line and smashed at one of the skeletons.
Suddenly the great stone began to hum and once again it sent out a shockwave of green light. This time, the Signers of the Charter of Schiereiland felt as if some blot of evil grew within their very essence, devouring the light of life, and it pained them. 4
“May Ra send these abominations to cower in the darkness from when they were spawned!” Laarus cried out, clutching the ankh around his neck. He felt the wave of divine energy wash out of him, but even as it did he could sense it diminish, the darkness of the tomb and the evil of the stone working against him and the will of Ra.
In the tightening cluster of skeletons and adventurers, two of the undead began to flee. Telémahkos was standing near Markos, and clicked his rapier at it as it hurried past him, but it did not seem to do much damage. “Crusta! When there’s an opening come help me help your boyfriend!” Bleys moved over to Telie’s side to help him fend off the skeletons. Laarus moved over as well, pinning one of the skeletons between them. The thing spun around, not sure which for to go for and the priest of Ra sent its head flying across the chamber, the skull cracking as it slammed the wall. The skeleton fell to its knees, but immediate tried to get back up, it had no need of a head.
“Nephthys! Bless my smashing!” Timotheus cried out and struck it hard with his heavy flail, so it did not get back up. He used the momentum he built up to swing back up at another skeleton closing in, but it blocked the flail on the flat of its scimitar. Another skeleton lost the grip on its long sword as it stabbed at Tymon and it clattered on the floor. “I disarmed it, Master!” Tymon called proudly to Telémahkos.
Victoria of Anhur hurried past the unarmed skeleton, leaving herself open to an attack from its claw-like bony hands. She grunted in pain, but got past drawing the attention of the skeleton with the greatsword. It turned to face her, its skull covered in the gold mask marked with the rune for avarice. Crusta took off around the room trying to find a way to reach Markos safely, as he was still bleeding out.
And now there was a knot of furious melee. Telémahkos and Bleys moved back and forth to keep the skeletons occupied while others smashed at them. Timotheus’ instincts made him notice an opening as Falco moved in, his scimitar sending sparks when it clashed with that of his undead opponent. The tall and muscular son of Briareus crushed it handily, his usual grin growing wider as he spun to face the one who had sent Victoria to the ground. The militant crawled through the chaos, a prayer to Anhur her lips, but before she could get the spell off, the skeleton with the great sword chopped down on her back. She groaned and fell on her stomach, feeling the blood bruise swell up beneath her armor. She looked up wincing with anticipation for another blow, but it did not come. She leapt to her feet, noticing Timotheus running through a shower of bone fragments on his way to face the skeleton with the longspear. He called Dunlevey off, sending him to help the others.
Laarus let out a satisfied grunt as he smashed another skeleton, is gold mask clattering on the floor.
“Anhur, let this boy live to see another day,” Victoria finally had a chance to see to Markos unthreatened by the skeletal undead, but as she cast the spell she also noticed that Markos had stabilized. Crusta was sitting with the sun-tanned mage’s head in her lap, stroking his hair and making murmuring noises. “Isis, take care of my boyfriend,” she said, and he finally sputtered awake.
By this time Timotheus was charging the two remaining skeletons who were cowering away from Laarus in one corner, while Dunlevey and Tymon finished one last one. As the chamber grew silent, the young nobles and their hirelings and followers took a collective breath, but the air down here was foul and they were filled with a sense that they should find the way out as quickly as possible. The masks were collected and examined.
“Which of these emotions leads to man’s grief at the end of a leash?” Bleys asked. “My guess is that the answer lies in that question.”
“But what of the clues on the spire?” Victoria said. “Shall we not consider those?”
“It could be greed…” Bleys mused, not answering the militant. “Or perhaps serenity? As in the serenity of death? Dalvan was a necromancer…”
All this time the great green stone hummed softly, but suddenly it gave off a pulse of green light again, and again they felt the deep cold of evil in their soul.
“We have to do something to get out of here,” Telémahkos said, clutching his chest dramatically.
“If no one is sure then someone just take our best guess,” Timotheus said. “If someone needs to put the mask on, I will do it…”
“Don’t be a fool,” Victoria admonished him. “It seems to me that whichever way we choose will lead to grief, so even the ‘right’ choice may be dangerous to us.”
“Well then, I am the best one to take it,” Timotheus said, smiling. He began to gather the skeletons’ weapons, as Bleys arranged the masks on the floor and made ready to cast detect magic. There was another pulse, and this time Falco, Crusta and Markos let out groans of agony, unable to hold back.
“Well, all the masks are magical,” Bleys said a moment later. “I only had a chance to look at a few before the spell’s duration ended, but they seem to hold necromantic and enchantment dweomers.”
Timotheus picked up the mask with the rune Laarus had translated as representing happiness. “I am going to put this one on, okay?” he asked. “You think it is this one?”
“The never-ending search for happiness does sometimes lead to the end of a leash,” Bleys reasoned.
“Don’t put anything on, blockhead!” Telémahkos slapped his cousin’s shoulder.
“You know, maybe the last adventurers who got into this place put on those masks and they became the skeletons we just destroyed,” Markos offered. As the speculation continued in earnest, Telémahkos began to search the area around each of the columns looking for some kind of secret passage out of the room.
There was another pulse and a sense of panic wafted in the room to mingle with the dread already found there.
Markos grabbed Crusta by the wrist and led her out to the narrow bit of hall that led into the chamber that was not blocked off, hoping it might keep them out of the range of the pulse of vile energy. Falco followed, as did Tymon, once Telémahkos told him he might as well try. Meanwhile, the blond Briareus was still searching, and it was over by the pillar where the skeleton wearing the mask marked with rune for anger or courage that he noted an unusual amount of moisture beading through a seam in the stone wall behind the great plaque of green stone there. He dug at the wall with a finger and the stone flaked and gravely mud crumbled out from behind the seam. He showed the others what he found.
“It looks like there is some kind of damage to the structural integrity of this chamber,” Telémahkos said. “We might be able to pull this wall down, or at least a big enough chunk to get out of here without having to risk a mask…”
“Or we might flood the chamber and end up killing all of us,” Laarus replied. “Even if the water is not enough to drown us, the chamber may collapse…”
Bleys shrugged, “At least if we cause a flood and wash the masks away no other can enter this tomb and share in our folly.”
“We got Bes, that’s all we need,” Telémahkos said.
“We could try to break a wall where there is no water,” Bleys speculated aloud.
“It is only loose because of the running water,” Telémahkos replied.
Timotheus walked over and examined the wall flail in hand.
“Don’t you go smashing anything, Moose!” Telémahkos slapped his cousin’s shoulder. “Grab on to the stone plaque there and pull instead.”
“Better a moose than a weasel,” Timotheus replied with a smile, and he began to pull on the green stone plaque. Victoria walked over and aided him. The whole thing shifted less than an inch, and a sputter of mud and grit poured out from behind it. Telémahkos stopped them and examined the wall and then listened. He gave them the okay to continue, and a moment later the entire plaque cracked into three pieces and fell onto the floor. They leapt back as a torrent of mud made a pile on the floor. A few more moments of digging and a natural passage of hollowed out mud was revealed beyond. They could hear the steady beat of gouts of water from beyond. The passage climbed sharply to the left, disappearing into darkness.
A rope was fastened about Telie’s waist and Timotheus held the other end while his cousin explored the sudden egress holding a lit lantern. The muddy sides of the tunnel dripped and crumbled as he climbed, and about thirty feet in he emerged from the wound in the earthen wall of a natural cavern. Here walls were tall and slick with mud, water was splashing down in a staccato waterfall along from a shaft in the one corner of the ceiling and disappeared down into a dark hole beyond. Telémahkos carefully walked out into the middle of the cavern and noticed there was another way out, a narrow passage of mud that curved and disappeared down to the right. He walked over and raised his lantern, but could see no further than about forty of fifty feet. He hurried back, arriving in time to feel another of the evil pulses.
“I found a chamber you all can wait in while I explore a possible way out,” Telémahkos said, wincing. “I think it will be far enough away from this stone to not have to worry about it hurting us anymore.”
“Well, it is either that or try the masks,” Laarus said.
“We risk Telémahkos’ way,” Bleys said steadily. Telémahkos climbed back up to steady the rope from that end as the others made their way up one by one to keep from collapsing the way out. As Victoria, Laarus, Bleys and Timotheus waited their turns, being the last to go, the stone pulses once again, and once again they felt its soul-wracking cold pain. Finally, they all made it up into the cavern, wary of its muddy walls and torrents of water. They waited until enough time had passed that they thought the stone would have pulsed again, but nothing happened. Out of sight of the stone, and feeling no foul pain, they had to assume they were safe for the time being.
(2) Those holding the door had to make Fortitude saves or take increasing damage every five rounds. Thus, they took 1 point the first time, 2 points the second time, etc…
(3) See Session #16.
(4) They did not know it yet, but they were suffering vile damage. I don’t care what anyone says, I think The Book of Vile Darkness was a great book.
That means that the already slow updates will probably slow down again (though who knows, sometimes story hour writing is more fun than academic writing and ends up being a great form of procrastination )
I have all of Session #18 written up and will be posting an installment from it soon. I also have most of Session #19 written. The interesting thing is that I plan to stick an InterSession within a normal span of a session (#18; in order to put it in chronological order in which it happened, even if it was not played in that order), and there are two other InterSessions between #18 and #19. I also took a bunch of stuff from an InterSession and incorporated into the first part of Session #19 in order to integrate it without going over the mind-numbing details of a party debate/discussion that took part partly in-character and partly OOC on our messageboards.
Anyway, so that is the state of things story hour-wise. In terms of current game sessions we just played Session #23 after a long break and we'll be playing #24 on Super Bowl Sunday.
Down and down the corkscrewing tunnel Telémahkos slid, crawled and climbed. The rest of the Signers of the Charter of Schiereiland waited in the cavern above, Timotheus holding the end of a rope that Telémahkos was no longer tied to. One hundred feet was not enough, so Telie had untied himself and continued.
“You alright down there?” Timotheus called down.
Telémahkos called back that he was just fine. The tunnel itself was through muddy earth that crumbled and slid, occasionally releasing brief torrents of silty water, illuminated by his lantern. Eventually, the tunnel opened into a much larger cavern hundreds of feet below the one the rest of the Signers awaited. The tunnel came in about five feet off the larger cavern floor. Another larger tunnel went off to the left, while the cavern stretched into darkness in front of him. He could hear the water crashing from the chamber high above into a black lake.
Judging this a safe enough place from which to launch further exploration, he began the difficult climb back up.
“How long do we wait until we begin to worry?” Timotheus asked Bleys, looking at the gash in the earth his cousin had disappeared down.
“Are you worried now?” Bleys asked.
“A little.”
“It has not be long enough to worry,” the watch-mage replied flatly.
Telémahkos emerged from the tunnel a mud-man, his blues eyes shining out from a thick layer of brown that was slicked up and down his body. He described the place he had found, but Laarus and Victoria looked at the filthy Briarius dubiously.
“What about up that way?” Victoria of Anhur pointed up the slick jagged shaft from which the halting waterfall came. “It goes up. It might be a way out.”
“I can’t climb it,” Telémahkos replied.
“You seem an adept climber,” Victoria said, her eyes narrowed.
“I mean, I might be able to climb it, but it’d dangerous,” Telémahkos explained. “Too dangerous for me… How do you expect to get up there if there happens to be a way out?”
“We have a rope,” Victoria said.
“I’m not doing it,” Telémahkos refused.
The rest of the Signers took up the debate. Markos thought checking out the shaft might be worth a try, while Timotheus sided with his cousin.
“It seems too treacherous,” Laarus said, and Bleys nodded.
“Then let’s just pick a route,” Markos said, shifting his weight to his other foot and slipping his bag off his shoulder onto the damp floor. “Ugh, my bag’s heavy…”
“I’ll carry it for you,” Timotheus offered, stepping over to scoop it up with his muscled arms, but Markos pulled it away and slung back onto his back.
“No!” Markos snapped and then caught himself and changed his demeanor. “I mean, thanks, but I got it …”
“Have it your way,” Timotheus replied, and he turned to the others. “If we’re going to go down then I’m going first.” With that he marched over to the tunnel and confidently strode in, raising his hands to brace himself against the crumbly muddy walls. He was no more than five or six steps in when he lost his footing and began a long painful slide down the tunnel in the dark. Timotheus was barely able to stop himself, sensing the colder air of the great cavern at the end. But he misjudged as he stretched his arms forward to get a sense of how much room he had, and tumbled onto the muddy bank of the lake beyond.
Timotheus had long moments in the dark and his ears grew accustomed to the drips and drops of the nearby water. Suddenly, he thought he heard voices, and then he was certain.
Bleys the Aubergine came next followed by his radiant spark, he flew into the mud with no elegance.
“Here, let me help you up…” Timotheus offered a hand, grinning even wider than usual. “But keep it down, I thought I heard voices…”
Bleys’ light revealed that they were on the bank of a dark lake of swirling water. It stretched way back into the darkness, and water ran down the black walls. There was another passage running off to the left through a limestone wall in a gradual curve, disappearing into darkness beyond.
“Where?” Bleys asked in a whisper that still felt overloud in the cavernous open.
“Out there…” Timotheus gestured to the left side of the lake, where ceiling curved down low, making the overhead clearance just under nine feet. To the right the ceiling ranged up forty feet or more.
Markos and Crusta came down next, sliding down with him locked between her legs and her flabby hair-covered arms wrapped about his shoulders and head. As Bleys’ spell ended, he was forced to light his lantern and hold it up.
Victoria of Anhur ended a particularly bumpy ride with a bone-shaking landing on her backside. Dunlevey climbed out with no troubles, but Tymon, who was after him, went shooting out to the lake edge, sliding painfully across the rock-littered muck. Laarus of Ra suffered a similar indignant journey, though Bleys and Victoria were able to keep him from flying too far out of the muddy hole. Falco was second to last, and finally Telémahkos made the trip down again.
Telémahkos and Dunlevey heard the echoed murmur of voices as well. The voices floated over the subterranean lake. Rather than deal with the lake, the Signers of the Charter of Schiereiland marched down the side passage, but found that soon after it curved it grew very steep and led to a caved in area. There would be no going out that way. They made their way back to the lake and Bleys the Aubergine suggested they make camp here.
“We should check out those voices,” Timotheus said.
“Well, how deep is the water?” Victoria. “Perhaps we can look into where the voices are coming from.” She walked over to the edge of the water and then stepped in to about knee height. She used her longspear to check the depth. It was not much deeper within reach of her weapon. Now she heard the voices again. It was two voices talking to each other intermittently. The language was unintelligible, but clearly the sound came from a muddy nook on an inside wall where the shape of the cave bent and turned in many directions, water and silt lapping in its many niches.
“I’ll lead the way,” Timotheus said, wading past her. Thirty yards from the bank, Tim came to a ragged niche where the mud embankment met the earth and stone roots of the hill above them. By the light now shining from Victoria’s spear, the bold Briareus noted a hole in the mud about three feet in diameter. The voices came once again, but still seemed muffled. They were further away than whatever lay beyond this hole. Timotheus began to climb up into it, and slipping disappeared down in the hole, bringing a sluice of water and mud with him. He slammed on a flat stone floor, with a bit of light from Victoria’s spear reaching him down the narrow tunnel he had just fallen through. It was about seven or eight feet long and high up on the wall of this chamber, whatever it was.
He scrambled up to his feet, feeling a coin (or something similar) slip out from under his boot. He heard the voices again. They were loud and foreign. The language was mellifluous for the most part, but broken by had guttural suffixes and interjections. It was vaguely familiar.
“Tim!” Telémahkos hissed his cousin’s name from the mouth of the hole. Seeing Tim disappear, he had hurried ahead and leapt up to the hole, but his balance was much better. Timotheus climbed back into the hole, and Telémahkos reached a hand to help him up. The larger warrior could feel the hole getting larger as he kicked big chunks of mud into the room behind. They decided to stop in the tunnel, and Victoria handed up the lantern passed up by Bleys. Tim’s jaw dropped when he raised the lantern to look into the room he had fallen into.
There were piles of treasure! Hundreds, if not thousands of copper and silver coins, jewelry amid musty sacks, a large statue of an angel made from Sardonyx, and some common brass mugs and cutlery.
“It’s a dragon’s hoard!” Timotheus said, his grin stretching across his face even wider than normal. He whispered through the hole what he saw, and then he heard the voices again. Raising the lantern, Tim saw that the left wall of the chamber was actually the back of some kind of false wall. The voices came from the other side. They did speak in a foreign language. He could not identify it.
One after one they climbed into the secret chamber, the rent in the wall getting bigger with each person through, until there was a constant stream of muck spilling in as well. Telémahkos crept over near the false wall and listened.
“It’s Rubar,” he hissed, and gestured to Tymon join him. The portly man stumbled over as Victoria fell ungracefully from the hole, and the voices were suddenly quiet. Timotheus stepped over and grabbed the militant before she splashed into the growing pool of muck.
“Did the earth just move or was it just me?” He smiled as he looked in her face, brought close to his by the awkwardness of the fall and his rush to catch her.
“It was just you,” she frowned and firmly pushed his arms away. His smile never dying, Tim started looking through the loot, as Telémahkos found a spy hole in the false wall and was able to see out some. There was a chamber beyond that was reached from two sides, though a thick curtain covered one passage. There was a figure in silhouette, dressed in armor of some kind and armed with a scimitar. The figure wore a scarf or turban about his head. A second, similarly dressed figure entered the room and they began to talk, both looking to the wall nervously.
Tymon did his best to translate what could be heard.
“Is he coming?” the first one asked.
“Yes.”
“Was he with the old woman again? Or Eton?” the first one asked. “I do not think they are to be trusted.”
“The Marked One trusts them,” the second one replied, sternly. “That is enough…”
“Did you overhear if they plan to bring the slaves here?” the first one was asking, when a third figure arrived, taller than the others.
“Oh no!” Tymon turned to the chamber and stepped away from the false wall when he heard the third man speak.
“They are checking the wall! They are coming!” Telémahkos hissed, drawing the Steel Whip.
“They didn’t know this room was here,” Tymon added, even as the door opened. It was actually not quite much of a door, rather one of the men on the other side grabbed a section of wall and moved it over by brute strength, Telémahkos did not hesitate. As the other turban-wearing warrior stepped through, the dexterous young noble flicked his rapier out and found a space between scales in the man’s armor. The man grunted as the blade slid in and the armor protested, giving way to a bloom of blood from his abdomen. 2
“Ready! Ready! Ready!” The voices of the Signers of Charter of Schiereiland rang out one after another, having become used to the tactic of Markos’ pyrotechnics spell, and shutting their eyes.
“Tymon! Tell them to surrender!” Bleys added, and the manservant cried out in the alternately mellifluous and guttural language of the Rubes.
“Pyroclastus lux!” Markos cast and his torch gave off a flash of light. The dervish behind the false wall/door was protected, as was the larger man, clearly the leader (and drawing a mean-looking great sword from his back). The man Telémahkos stabbed was not as lucky. Blinded, Telémahkos struck him again, and then withdrew.
And they were clearly dervishes. The two men kept their armor tied tight to their bodies with sashes of red and gold, and wore bright red scarves expertly tied upon their heads. The relentless sun of the Disputed Territories browned their skin. The tall man wore no turban, letting his long black hair hang near his broad shoulders, despite having the front part of his head shaved to the scalp. He was disfigured by a burn scar on the right side of his face that appeared to be made by some hot metal rod having been pressed there. It reached from under his eye to his chin, nearly obscuring the countless other smaller scars and scratches all over his face and body, including a scar on his neck that looked as if it was less than an inch from killing him. He was also missing his left ear. He wore a bronze breastplate.
“Tymon! Tell them!” Bleys commanded again, letting an arrow loose through the doorway. The scarred man winced as the missile bounced painfully off the bracers on his forearms.
“I tried!” Tymon whined in reply.
“Ethan! Ethan! Intruders!” The scarred man called in a booming voice. He spoke common with only a slight accent, but then fell back to the Rubar tongue when speaking to the dervishes before him. “Basit! Baqir! Atravese!”
As Victoria of Anhur hurried forward to hold the doorway, the dervish holding the section of wall, rushed through. He propped the door in front of Timotheus as he went by, momentarily blocking off the sabre-wielding bastard of noble blood. He ignored the wound Victoria scored on his hip as he twisted around to try to avoid the worse of it as he let go of the false wall. Tymon hacked fearfully with this long sword and the dervish’s legs buckled, but he continued, a spear suddenly in his hand and thrusting into Laarus side, drawing dark blood from the priest of Ra.
Timotheus pushed down the door, swinging his flail with anger, as Laarus used a quick hit to buy him a moment to step away from the dervish.
“I do not know where you came from,” the marked one out in the chamber said as he stepped in, causing Timotheus to spin around hurriedly. “But you made a big mistake!” There was a wrenching sound as Tim’s breastplate crunched under the weight of the man’s great sword. His arm sagged from the pain and his return swing was half-hearted. He could feel blood seeping down under his armor. “Some help over here!”
“We should focus on the man Tim is fighting,” Markos said, raising his hands to cast. “He seems the most dangerous! Sagitta aquom!” Two missiles of watery blue light slammed into the man he pointed out. Telémahkos danced over to aid Tymon, keeping the spear-wielding dervish from turning to easily flank Timotheus. Dunlevey moved in to aid.
“No one needs die here today!” Bleys the Aubergine called to their foes. “Surrender!”
But surrounded as he was, the spear-wielding dervish was unwilling to surrender. Instead, he let loose bellow that rose into a lilting screech as he huffed and puffed, his stature seeming to increase as he worked himself into a rage that made the scales of his armor sing with his shaking.
“It is you who have intruded on our lair,” the marked one said, not pausing from his punishing blows that Tim was barely knocking aside with his own weapon. “It is you who should stand down…”
“That’s not up to me, but you’re outnumbered,” Timotheus replied, getting a hit in that led the man to grunt and fight to keep his footing. “I suggest you stand down…”
“Yes! We are not bad guys!” Tymon tried, and then switched to Rubar. “Just give up!” He withdrew from the melee, dropping his sword to draw his crossbow and begin loading it.
Laarus Raymer of Ra croaked as the dervish spear thrust deeply into his groin, the spear point wedging apart his cod-piece from his grieves. The priest tumbled to the floor bleeding out.
“Laarus!” Victoria snarled as she called for Anhur to fill her with his righteous fury until she too shook with an all encompassing rage. Unfortunately, for her however, in her fury she stepped too quickly, stumbling and fell flat out. 3
Telémahkos leapt back from the melee, leaving it to Dunlevey to cover alone as Victoria seethed and crawled to her feet.
“Eton! Eton!” called the blind dervish still out in the other room.
“Call off the dervish and let me tend to our man and I will drop my weapon,” Bleys offered, even as he dropped his bow to draw his sabre. He looked right at the marked man as he spoke, trying to get his eye. Beyond that fight, he could see the curtain draped across the left side egress open.
“Alright, what’s all this then?” said the man dressed in off-white burnoose with a yellow sash and sandals. A gray scarf that stretched out as part of his dull yellow turban covered his face, and he wore a short sword at his side. Bleys was puzzled by the hint of an accent in the voice. It was not Rubar. It was not Thrician, and not quite Herman-lander, either… The man deftly drew a fat piece of pork rind from a leather satchel at his side, chanting arcane words as he tossed it at Tim’s feet. Less then a moment later, the big man found himself landing painfully on his tailbone, the floor around him covered in a thick layer of greasy animal fat. The man looked up and his eyes met those of Bleys. They were blue.
The blinded dervish in the hall made his way awkwardly to the curtain and began to call through it in his tongue.
Victoria let out an exultation to Anhur as she felt her spear puncture something inside the dervish’s body. No man should have been able to continue to fight after such a blow, but fight on he did, the rage within him seeming endless in the long moments of the melee.
“Drop your weapons or your friend dies!” The marked one called out. Timotheus’ eyes widened, flat on his back, as he felt the point of the great sword touch him on the neck just under the chin. One false move and he was dead. 1
“Maxima material! Markos muttered at the end of his long incantation and Dunlevey grew so tall the top of his head nearly touched the ceiling, and the swings of his sword became awkward.
“Call off the dervish and we will talk,” Markos negotiated with a smirk. Crusta stood beside him, long sword in her hands.
“I think the only ones fighting are the ones frothing like maniacs,” Telémahkos said with a weak smile. He threw down his sword and looked to the marked man and then to his helpless cousin. Bleys followed suit, tossing down his sabre as he stepped over to the doorway. “I am now unarmed,” he said. “Call off the dervish or the militant will keep fighting until one kills the other…”
“Bleys…?” The blue-eyed new arrival drew the scarf from around his face, revealing deeply laid freckles on a normally pale face, now sun-drenched. “Uri!” He looked to the man holding Timotheus at his mercy. “Call him off!”
But in that same moment, the spear-wielding dervish leapt out of the way of one of Victoria’s thrusts and slammed Dunlevey so hard across the face with the haft of the weapon, the sellsword fell to the ground, coughing up blood as he passed out.
“Baqir! Havase!Uri the Marked called to his man as he raised his sword from Timotheus’ neck in a sign of good faith. Tim scrambled up to his feet, his back to the nearby corner.
The dervish pulled back his spear and shuddering, collapsed to the cold hard ground, bleeding. Victoria of Anhur panted with her spear held over him, but taking a deep breath let it out slowly.
“Fiss’iss! We need healing in here, now!” The scarf-wearing man called out.
Victoria knelt beside Laarus and called to Anhur to close the priest’s wounds before he died.
“Is someone going to help Dunlevey?” Timotheus never hid his concern and responsibility for the hirelings. Bleys was already hurrying over to do what he could, saying to Ethan. “You know I am honorable. I need to tend to my man…” Crusta crawled over to help.
“Put your finger there…” Bleys commanded the half-orc witch and she obeyed. “Not so hard!” 2
Telémahkos looked over at Falco, noting that the guide had not raised a weapon during the entire fight.
“Who is that? Another watch-mage?” Markos asked Bleys. Bleys just nodded, busily working to save Dunlevey’s life. “Can you ask him if we can trade warriors?” As the lean young sailor-turned-mage chuckled, he looked up to see a lizardfolk step into the chamber and hurry over to squat by the dying dervish. The creature was mottled green and brown and had crests on the top of its head. It had a scimitar hanging from each side of a webbed belt, and wore a necklace of scored and twisted chain links holds an ankh.
“I am Ethan the Pearl,” the formerly scarfed man said with a smile. “That is Fiss’iss of Nephthys, and this…” He gestured to the scarred man. “…is Uri the Marked.” 3
The disguised watch-mage looked at the scattered piles of treasure and wondered aloud where it might have come from.
“Well, we may not know where it came from, but we certainly have ideas on how we’re going to spend it,” Markos replied with a frown.
“That will have to be discussed with Fallon,” Ethan the Pearl looked to Markos with seriousness,
“Fallon? The goddess…?” Timotheus’ voice was filled with a mix of awe and skepticism.
-------------------------------------------
When the wounded were brought to another chamber off that from which the Signers had first heard the voices of the dervishes, Basit and Baqir, in order to rest on thick straw pallets, some explanations were given.
These caves were on the far northwestern side of the great black hill rising out of the moors. The same hill that the tomb of Dalvan d’Amberville was located in, but if not for the inadvertent direct route carved out by running water, many miles around from where the adventuring nobles had first entered, it would have been a difficult place to find. Ethan the Pearl was a part of a group calling itself ‘The Broken Circle’ and they had recently wrested control of this lair from a group of Rubar bandits who were using it as a base of operations in their abducting of slaves for sale to the nefarious slaver group known simple as ‘The Nine.’
The caves gave way to a rocky shore on a thicket-covered lake recessed into a nook in the hill. There were three large huts built on the beach, but there was no obvious way through the immense thicket to escape the area.
“We finally were able to trace them to their lair, and had to wait until one of them led inadvertently by the secret path through the thicket to get here,” Ethan the Pearl explained. “This was nearly a fortnight ago, but some of the bandits escaped and we were forced to go after them, and only recently returned. We had not finished searching the whole place, thus our failure to discover the secret treasure room you found your way to…”
Bleys the Aubergine explained of their quest for the amulet of Fallon and the tomb of Dalvan d’Amberville, and how they had luckily been able to take advantage of the passage of time and the running of water to escape the chamber of the masks. 4 “Did you know of the tomb’s existence?” Bleys asked.
Ethan nodded. “The bandits used the reputation of the tomb as a means to keep locals away, but it proved their undoing when a source I had access to was able to tell me where the tomb was,” he explained. “We needed only wait for sign of the bandits and pinpoint their lair.”
“But the tomb itself…?
“Not as immediate a concern to us in our reason for banding together, the destruction of the Nine and the slave trade that they control,” Ethan replied.
Uri the Marked was an escapee from the dervish camps, who had come to hate the missionaries of the Red God of the West and had recently returned from Herman Land where he had adventured from some time. Basit and Baqir were in a similar situation, having recently been led away from such a life by Uri’s efforts. Uri was seeking his younger brother said to been sold to such a camp. Friars of Nephthys were natural allies to their cause. In addition to Fiss’iss, another friar was counted among their number, but he was out patrolling the area. The leader of the Broken Circle was a woman they called ‘Fallon,’ though Ethan offered no insight as to the origin of her divine name or who or what she might be.
“I must go speak to her of your arrival and get her advice on where to proceed from here,” Ethan said, excusing himself. Uri the Marked followed him out, but the lizardfolk priest remained behind. Baqir stood just outside the door.
“Will we get to meet her?” Markos asked.
“You have already found this place… I cannot see the harm, but that will be for her to decide,” Ethan replied as he left, giving a short bow.
Markos turned to Fiss’iss. “I greatly honor the work you are doing here,” he told her in the tongue of lizardfolk.
“Thank you,” she replied.
“What did she say?” Timotheus asked, fascinated by a lizardfolk priest of the goddess he revered.
“She said, ‘Tim should mind his own damn business,’” Markos smirked.
“Why must you always be an ass?” Timotheus snapped back angrily. The lizardfolk looked back and forth between them, her alien face unable to contort to reveal what subtleties of emotion she may have been feeling.
“Bleys, tell me… do you trust this Ethan the Pearl?” Victoria asked her watch-mage companion in quiet tones. Telémahkos stood nearby straining to hear without trying to be obvious. “You went to school with him?”
“Yes… Well, he was a few years ahead of me… We were both there for one… Maybe two years…?” Bleys absently scratched at the dark beard growing in patches on his angular face. It was said he went missing soon after his graduation. Many feared him dead… It seems to me that he may have good reason to prefer having people think of him as such… But he as far as I know he is an alumnus in good standing, and have no reason to not trust him…”
“That is enough for me,” Victoria replied in her stolid way.
Markos took the masks to one corner, along with one of the party’s pearls and cast identify. He was puzzled when he found no dweomers to identify at all! A quick detect magic spell revealed the magical auras were gone. The pearl was wasted.
As they waited for Ethan to return the other friar of Nephthys came in and called to his goddess to heal Laarus and Dunlevey’s wounds. Moments later they were awakening.
“I am called Harber of Nephthys,” the young priest said. He had the dark brown hair common to many Thricians, and he wore it in the long shaggy style in back, clipped short in front. He was clearly very athletic, and his physique accentuated the good looks hiding behind the layers of dirt on his face. Only his crooked yellow teeth marred his beauty.
“You are a Winter?” He turned to Bleys after he introduced himself. The watch-mage nodded. “But not of the Winters of Tribunisport, eh? I know some of them well, and have spent many months at a time in that town…”
“No, I am of the Devenpeck Winters,” Bleys said, his steady eye never moving from the friar’s gaze. “Though I would be made happy to know my honorable cousins as you do…”
It was nearly an hour later when Ethan the Pearl finally returned. In the meantime, Telémahkos made sure to let the others know he was against returning to the tomb. Timotheus agreed with his cousin, finding the traps and puzzles of the place not to his liking. Markos was ambivalent, but Victoria did not relish a return as well.
“Anhur would have me prove my skill versus worthy combatants, not mechanics and magic,” she said. Informed of what had happened during his unconsciousness, Laarus withheld judgment until it could be discussed at length.
“Fallon will see you in the morning,” Ethan said to them. “She and I talked for a long time and agreed to try to recruit you to our cause. We are at your mercy having discovered our hiding place, and require your silence on our presence here, but hope that we can bind our fates together by committing ourselves to aiding each other in the good…”
“If you are asking us to help you, for my part I am more than willing to pledge what coin and knowledge I have to your cause,” Markos said with an uncommon earnestness.
“Hey! I want to help, too,” Timotheus added. “Is there slaver ass-kicking involved?” He was smiling eagerly.
Ethan laughed. “Well… We were hoping for something requiring a little more delicacy, but there may be plenty of opportunity for ass-kicking in the long run…”
“You mean that you would have us aid you in your work against the Nine?” Bleys asked.
Ethan nodded. Basit carried in a large pot full of steaming porridge and Harber opened a sack containing half a dozen large hard rolls. The porridge was divvied out in bowls and the rolls ripped into enough pieces that everyone had the same amount; that is, except for Fiss’iss. She did not eat.
“You have to understand that we may be slitting our own throats in sharing this information with you,” Ethan continued. “But as it is, we have no choice. We cannot hold you and we certainly cannot kill you.” He smiled weakly. “So all we can do is trust you…”
“And you can trust us,” Timotheus replied.
“We may already have information on the Nine to offer you,” Telémahkos said. “That blue demon that Hezrah was breeding the orcs for… Could it not be working for the Nine?”
“That would connect the Nine to the efforts of the hobgoblins,” Laarus said.
“Blue demon? Hobgblins?” Ethan was puzzled.
“This…” Markos showed the watch-mage the ivory plaque they had found among Hezrah’s things. 5
“Stygian Demonborn!” Ethan hissed. He pointed to the rune above the image on the plaque. "That is the rune of the Nine. You see how there is a smaller rune within the loop of the nine-shape? That is his personal rune, showing him as one of the nine ruling slave-lords of the organization. We know of him as a powerful illusionist or warlock, not as some kind of demon ogre… This may just be a form he uses to intimidate the rabble.”
“Or else, this is his true form and whatever human form you know for him is the illusion,” Markos offered.
“Where did you find this?” Ethan asked. “Is it magical?”
They explained about Hezrah and her breeding pit for ogrillions, and how they thought that this ‘Master’ she served might be working with the Hobgoblins of the Blue Claw to raise troops of ogrillion slave-warriors.
“It bears no dweomer that we can detect,” Bleys added.
“Be careful with it,” Ethan warned. “It may still serve some nefarious purpose, even if it is simply as the focus for scrying.”
“You were explaining what you hoped we’d help you with…” Laarus brought the conversation back to the matter at hand.
”It is very important that you keep whatever we share with you to yourselves,” Ethan continued, reminded that he had had a point. “You should not even mention ‘the Nine’ when you return to civilization, for we have good reason to believe that there is a high-ranking member of Thricia’s nobility in the Nine right now, and whomever it may be has spies in one or more of the House courts.”
“If that is so, such corruption needs to be rooted out!” Laarus said, sternly. Bleys and Victoria nodded.
“We agree, but as I said, delicacy is important,” Ethan explained. “The Nine are powerful and ruthless. If they learn your names and your involvement then you will not be safe, nor will your loved ones, or servants. Fallon will be able to explain more the situation and what we need of you on the morrow, until then you should rest.” He turned to leave, but then stopped. “Oh, and about the treasure, Fallon is happy to split it sixty-forty…
“Will you be satisfied with forty percent?” Bleys asked.
“No, you will get forty, we get sixty, though the statue is yours to take if you like, it is too inconvenient to get out of here and resell,” Ethan responded.
“You get sixty?” Markos sputtered. “We found it!”
A debate upon the splitting of the bandit treasure ensued, that led to everyone getting up and going back to that chamber to look more closely at what was there. Bleys the Aubergine, however, made an offer that seemed fair to Ethan, and the Broken Circle were willing to take their share of the coins from among the money of the Kingdom of the Red God of the West, as it was what was commonly used in the Western Conurbation.
“That is the second time you mentioned that place,” Markos said. “What and where is it?”
“It is a league of villages west of here amid the Levar Ach Piedi Hills,” Ethan explained. “It falls under no jurisdiction of Thricia or the Kingdom of the Red God of the West, and can be a wild place. There are Thrician ex-patriots, less traditional Rubes, bandits, slavers, Setites, homeless barbarians, all kinds of people. It is a place that the Nine can use to their ends.”
“I thought no one was allowed to settle in the Disputed Territories,” Laarus said.
“The law and reality are two different things,” Ethan replied. “Those people have been there for over a century, and nothing short of an army is going to get them out… Who is going to send an army to remove common people to enforce a treaty no one likes?”
Ethan the Pearl also said that the Signers of the Charter of Schiereiland could take the holy books that were found among the treasure. They should be very valuable back in civilization, but would be suspicious among the pious people of the Conurbation because of the tradition regarding the handling of such holy texts. 6
By the time the treasure discussion was over, exhaustion was really settling into their bones and muscles and they began to stretch out their bedrolls in the large cave with the straw mats. They could all still feel the cold of the emanations they had suffered through in the chamber of masks. Timotheus went out to the gravelly beach to spend some time with Harber of Nephthys in prayer and discussion before going to sleep. The bastard Briareus explained about what had happened with the orc women in Hezrah’s breeding pit, and his uncertainty on how to handle such a situation.
“You were right to let them go, I think…” Harber replied. “Nephthys teaches us that everyone deserves the trust to make the right choices…”
“What about hobgoblins?” Tim asked. “Are they not inherently evil?”
“Some say the same about lizardfolk or half-orcs, but look at Fiss’iss or your own companion…”
“Crusta? I’m not too sure about her. She’s just saving her own skin…” Timotheus replied.
“What does it matter why she does it for now? If it can teach her something about true freedom and doing good, then it is worth it… The ideology of freedom is not about words or intentions, but about actions…” Harber said.
Meanwhile, Markos fought off tiredness long enough to follow Fiss’iss part of the way through the thicket to have their own discussion in her tongue, far from the ears of others. Ethan the Pearl led Bleys the Aubergine to one of the huts out on the beach, and they had their own private discussion as well. 7
…to be continued…
------------------------------------------------------------- Notes:
(1) You can see the rules used for “covering” someone on the Aquerra Wiki, here.
(2) This group uses the “aid other” option for skills a great deal, especially for healing checks to stabilize someone.
(3) Both Ethan the Pearl and Uri the Marked are former PCs. I played Ethan the Pearl in a short-lived campaign set in Thricia that Sean (aka Rastfar on these boards) ran back in ’97 or ’98. Uri the Marked was a player character from The Oath Campaign that lasted less than a full session, having been arrested and left to his fate before he could bond with the existing party of player characters.
(7) This conversation was handled after the game session using the group’s forum on some private message boards. See InterSession #18.1, which will be posted soon.
Well, now I know who has blue eyes. It's a good thing everything got straightened out there before someone died. That certainly would have made everything a lot more complex. Not that adding another whole plot line won't complicate things.
I also like the idea of characters from other campaigns making appearances. It gives strength to the idea that PCs are special. There aren't that many people like them out there in the world. They have even heard of some of them before.
As the rest of the Signers of the Charter of Schiereiland stretched out their rolls in the large cavern, readying to bed down for the night, Ethan the Pearl led Bleys to one of the small huts out on the gravelly beach in the shadow of the black stone hill and beneath the cover of the immense briar. The inside of the hut had a small fire pit and a variety of random clothing and objects hang from the hut frame, including a hammock covered with a mosquito net.
Ethan gestured for Bleys to sit on the pelt of what must have been an immense weasel. He fetched a skin from a peg on a beam. “You must have graduated, when? 564?”
Bleys sat. The purple of his robes obscured by drying mud. “565 H.E. Yes.”
“Oh! Let me help you with that!” Ethan the Pearl said, noting Bleys’ state compared to his own clean gray and white clothing. With an arcane word, he used prestidigitation to clean Bleys' robes. He folded his legs and sat across from him and handed over the skin.
“Thank you.” Bleys offered monotonously as he watched flakes fall from his deep purple robes.
“It is a local mead-like drink from the Western Conurbation,” Ethan was talking about the drink. “Reminds me of some of the stuff back home… It is really good to have some contact with someone from the Academy… Direct contact anyway. . . What route did you take down here?”
Bleys raised the skin and sniffed at it, before taking the smallest swig of the swill. After swallowing he gave a slight and respectful nod as if agreeing with Ethan estimation of its flavor. He handed the skin back to his host. “We came through Jacoba's territory, the Border Shires.”
Ethan's eyes widened perceptibly when Jacoba was mentioned, but he quickly regained his composure. “Did you get to consult with Jacoba?”
“We did not have opportunity to meet with Jacoba, unfortunately. Why?”
“Well, between you and me. . .” Ethan leaned in conspiratorially. “We are betrothed. …I do not get to see her very often and only get to pass messages along with slightly more frequency, and usually that has mostly to do with information being trading between what is going on out here and what is going on in Thricia proper…”
“Last I heard, none at the Academy had seen nor heard from you. Some suspected you rogue...” Bleys let the information dangle, eyeing the measure of the watch-mage before him. “The Master of Wards2 will be glad of my tidings.”
Ethan’s face grew grim. “Speaking for my absence and all that, well…” He blew a stray strand of his out of his face dismissively and his face relaxed. “Let's just say some erroneous rumors and reputations can still prove useful. Those who need to know the truth of my location and efforts already know it.”
“I see,” Bleys dismissed the subject of Ethan's status.
”It is for that reason that our betrothal must remain secret, and is the reason why I do not get to see Jacoba as much as I’d like…” Ethan continued. He looked sad.
“Is there some message that you would have me bring her?” Bleys offered as awkward consolation.
“If you will be going back that way, I would relish the opportunity,” Ethan smiled with the friendliness Bleys remembered from his first years at the Academy. Known as something of a practical joker back then, Ethan was never mean-spirited, or talked down to the underclassmen. 3 “So you said you found the Tomb of Dalvan d'Amberville using the obelisk? I've seen that place, we used it as a guide to find this black hill, but avoided the tomb.”
Bleys leaned in a bit, more attentive to a subject he wa much more comfortable with. “Interesting. So you must have seen the strange runic masks, maybe even encountered some of the odd mummy cultists? This is an intriguing area, rich with history dating back before the time of the Six Kingdoms. Were you also seeking the tomb, or did you know that the hill also sheltered this lair? Did the bandits seek to make their hideout near Dalvan's tomb intentionally, do you know?”
“I was told that the obelisk would point out the hill holding the tomb, and the bandits, who called themselves ‘the Dead Men’ had bragged that their hideout was well-hidden and protected by the ancient magic of Dalvan. I put two and two together. My source about the tomb did not know about the bandits, and I did not care so much about the tomb. If it were sealed up and not doing anyone harm, it did not seem worth it to look into… at least it was not a high priority…”
“And was it…?” Bleys lifted an inquisitive eyebrow. “…protected by Dalvan's magics?”
“No… No…” Ethan smiled, and then took a swig from the skin. “It was just a rumor they spread when they traveled west; a way of bragging. I knew their hideout had to be in this area because of scout reports and information gotten from a prisoner… Like I said, I put two and two together… The bandits were too scared to ever try to handle the tomb themselves, or at least those that did, never returned.”
“These 'Dead Men', who were they?” Bleys asked.
“Brigands, cut-throats… dervish deserters and Thrician exiles, but most were just poor boys of the Conurbation who turned to what they could to make a living in a hard world. . . It pains me that we had to slay most of them in the process of stopping their operation… But what would we have done with them?” Ethan sighed with genuine remorse.
“And these dervishes who share your company, how does your arcane craft reconcile with them?” Bleys made no attempt to hide his study of the clothing that took the place of his fellow alumni’s signatory robe.
“They remain a bit distrustful, I am sure… But they trust Uri, and he has spent time abroad and is more used to the wider world than they are. They have not been with us long, but as time goes on they have come to see the value of skills such as ours… “ Ethan replied. “Listen, Bleys, I wanted to ask… Well, unless if it is a secret, or you have made some promise not to reveal it, but I would really like to know how you knew to find the Tomb… If someone else knows how to find this place, we need to know. . “
Bleys looked quizzically at Ethan. “Well, you have visited the obelisk. The directions are there, plain for anyone to decipher should they be so inclined. We only sought out the location, knowing it would lead us to the tomb of Dalvan d'Amberville.”
“But not everyone knows where the obelisk is, or even that it exists. In fact, I would guess that most don't, even if they have heard of the tomb… And since the obelisk is the key to getting into this area, if there is someone else that has this information, I would like to know so I can evaluate the danger… Is who told you a secret? Have you given your word that you would not tell anyone? I thought that might be case, and I would not want to ask you to violate that promise…”
“No. It was no secret. Perhaps an oversight on his part, but I like to think of it that he trusted my discretion… We came to seek out what I believe is an artifact holy to the Trinity. The hatred Dalvan bore towards Fallon, in life, is well known for those learned in the subject of the time. Legend has it that he took with him to his death an amulet; an amulet that she herself blessed before her ascendance. It is that, specifically, that we sought to unearth inside.” Bleys eyed Ethan carefully, in anticipation of a possible reaction with the words he knew would issue from his mouth. “Malcolm the Bronze set me to the task.”
“I knew it! That clever bastard!” Ethan jumped halfway out of his sitting position and shook his fist. The sun-burned watch-mage took a deep breath and then settled back down. “Well, at least I don't have to worry on that account, seeing as he was where I got my information on the place. Not that it was easy, it took a lot of convincing that he needed to trust me as to why I could not tell him the ultimate goal of finding the place, and he did not like me refusing his help… He did not mention an amulet to me… But perhaps that is because he inferred that I had some ulterior purpose to finding the place aside from the tomb itself. . I would bet money that the reason he told you about the place was as a way to find out what I was up to…” A tense edge in Ethan's voice betrayed his anger at the elder watch-mage.
“So you do not trust his gregarious nature?” Bleys asked flatly, not reacting to Ethan's disparaging assessment of the eldritch knight.
“Heh… I am not saying Sir Malcolm is untrustworthy necessarily, only that he is condescending and values his own judgment over that of anyone else, especially that of younger alumni. According to Jacoba, he is always passing on news and rumors and maps and things to young watch-mages as he sees himself as a kind of mentor, but also probably because it fits into some plan he has of his own…” Ethan took another swig from the skin and passed it back to Bleys.
“Well, should the rumors of the amulet hold true, the boon for Thricians may be great. So now I must ask, do you know anything more that may aid us?” Bleys took the skin and made the obligatory tilt before returning it to its rightful owner. “Mmmmm.” He swallowed “Or better yet, would you care to accompany us? Lending your strength to ours would almost certainly ensure our success. Much good could come of it…” He did not let Ethan reply. “And certainly clearing the black hill you plan to occupy is in your best interest. If for no other reason than collapsing the tomb once we have completed our task means no harm will befall anyone else, and will be a deterrence to future glory seekers… What say you?”
Ethan shook his head. “I have no doubt the amulet, if it is there, would prove a great boon to the church, but we have our agenda and our plans, and clearing the tomb is not on that list as of yet. I doubt Fallon… Our Fallon… would agree that it would be an acceptable risk for us at this point…But there may be other ways I can aid you without accompanying you.”
“We would welcome any aid,” Bleys said. He drew one of the masks with archaic runes etched in its forehead and handed it to Ethan. “Do you recognize this at all?”
The other watch-mage turned it over in his hands. “Is it magical? What kinds of magic did it emanate?”
“It emanated an overwhelming aura of necromancy, but was also accompanied by an aura of enchantment as well.” Bleys explained the posed skeletal bearers of the masks and what he had learned of the runes.
Ethan handed back the mask. “And identification did not work?” He took up the skin again and took another long swig. He stood and moved to hang it back up, but then stopped and gestured to Bleys if he would like more.
Bleys waved it off. “No. Apparently, the masks no longer hold their dweomer after being removed from the tomb. My hope is that they will still be viable upon re-entry. But perhaps I was being overly hopeful that you might have knowledge of the tomb’s contents, seeing as the tomb itself was never your goal. Had you some other specific form of aid in mind?”
“I was thinking I might have some spells you might find useful…” Ethan sat back down. “Perhaps vice versa, as well? I am not sure how long you and your companions plan to stay here, but I would recommend resting for a day or two… To recover your strength and talk over your plans… Plus, I do not know what Fallon will tell you on the morrow. . “
“Yes, yes…Of course, decorum dictates I offer an exchange of spells, I just wished not to seem presumptuous or over-eager.” Bleys pulled his own traveling spellbook from his satchel. “Though I am yet fresh-faced and may have little to nothing to your gain.” He offered the book forth humbly.
Ethan waved away the spellbook. “Just tell me, do you have comprehend languages? I would prefer tongues, but I think it might be too much to hope that you'd happen to know or carry spells of the Third House#. . . What do you need? Shield? Protection from Evil? Protection from Arrows?"
“Uh… Yes.” Bleys attempted a smile. “Of course there are others I am interested in as well. Though protection from arrows particularly, though it is beyond my abilities to prepare, as of yet…”
"Detect scrying, I need it. . .” Ethan the Pearl replied, almost as if reminding himself. “I know you don't have access to it yet. That and like I said, tongues… Let's make a deal. I will pen you a scroll with protection from arrows on it for you to scribe it into your own book at a later date, if you will ask around for a scroll or book with one of those two spells on it." He looked to Bleys eagerly, and then filled in the usual silence of Bleys' thoughts before speaking with more speedy words. "And if it ends up costing you actual coin, then we'll negotiate whatever's fair with the scroll I am going to make you tomorrow defrayed from the cost. Though of course, hopefully we can just keep trading and the money won't matter…Isis willing. . ." Ethan nodded and winked, and then continued again, as if nervous. "Oh! And don't think you'll have to get it all the way down here again, though depending on what happens with Fallon tomorrow, who knows… we might see you back here again… But anyway, yes. . You can always have it delivered to Jacoba, and she will get it to me…"
The two alumni handled the logistics of trading spells books and making time for the studying and copying required. They fell easily into talking shop, easily understanding the jargon and slang of students at the Academy. Further discussion led to them agreeing to trade a couple of more spells. Ethan thought that low-light vision would be a handy spell to use around magic-fearing Rubes, and Bleys became enamored of the idea of halt missiles. The conversation took several twists and turns, including a brief reminiscence of Master of Wards Methusahlal.
Eventually Bleys reiterated what he knew of Dalvan d'Amberville and the tomb's reputation. “Is there any piece of information that you would add? Something you may have learned from your own investigations into the area?”
“I don't really know anything about him specifically. I do know that the d'Ambervilles were a cursed family, prone to madness and delusion and some given to evil. They've all died out, though it is said there are still among the nobles of Thricia those who bear the taint of their accursed blood. . . “ Ethan paused. “Oh! And, while it is more of the bandit bragging, it was said that Dalvan still lived tomb, which doesn't seem likely, but the legends are vague about how he died, so perhaps he did not die at all? Or perhaps, he did not choose to be entombed, but it was his followers that did it? I don't know…” He shook his head.
“Hmmmm…Well it would seem that my companions and I will need to discuss more before we decide what our next step shall be. I know that I am eager to return to the necromancer's tomb, but the others, it would seem, may need more coercion. I am uncertain as to what our immediate future holds.” Bleys began to collect his belongings, methodically re-organizing them back into his satchel.
“So your group would come all the way down here just to go to the tomb and find the amulet and then give up so quickly?” Ethan seemed dubious. “I understand it is supposed to be a dangerous place, but if what you described is the case, then the way you came out was not really meant to be a way out, but a luck break due to the years of natural wear on the place - otherwise, you would still be trapped down there, or figured out the riddle of the masks by now… It could be that that structural flaw is a sign that it might be easier to determine its secrets now than it has ever been before…”
“I am tenacious in my resolve, certainly, but there are some amongst our number who have become… distracted…and look for reasons to return home. We also visited the King Stones investigating a rumor of a box of wands held amongst goblin shamans there, but discovered it taken by hobgoblins; supposedly from the north, possibly of the Blue Claw, but we have no way to corroborate that. Those wishing to flee feel it best to warn Schiereiland of these developments…immediately.”
“Also… I believe them scared.” Bleys continued flatly. “With the exception of our priests who are driven by faith, the tomb is a cold place, the very kind that tests a man's mettle. And for those not familiar in the tests of the arcane, just such a feat can seem overwhelming. I do not know how you think the structural integrity of the tomb will make Dalvan's riddles and wards any more navigable… I would be wary for just the opposite… But it is hope nonetheless, just the kind these others may need. Though I suspect them to believe our escape serendipitous indeed.”
“Well, I have been scared and cold in a tomb before, so I know what it's like, and there is something to be said for avoiding the situation if possible, but still… to travel all this way. . .” Ethan let his words hang for a minute before continuing. “Fallon will be interested in this news about the Hobgoblins of the Blue Claw, if reliable news it is. . .”
Bleys remained flat, “As I said, I agree it would be a waste, but I am one voice in six, and there are always the lives of our hirelings that must be considered. But… If you would allow me to digress, as I recall, you were not far from Oroleniel…? They granted him the color ‘salmon’ upon graduation… Did you know him well at all?”
“He was a half-elf, right?” Ethan nodded. “He was a couple of years behind me. Weird… You know, in that way that elves can be… I don't know much about him except he's in… uh…New Harbinger? Yeah, New Harbinger, and I always though it was interesting that he was only half elf, but grew up in Tempestas. I was just curious what life would be like for a half-blood there… I mean, it can't be like being a pi…. uh, half-orc here. But why do you ask?”
“Have you heard of a group referred to as the Pillars? Some group other than the Pillars of Ra that is…I am attempting to divine a connection between him and them…”
“The Pillars?” Ethan shook his head for seemingly the hundredth time. “It doesn't ring a bell… Is it a religious or historical reference?”
“I must assume that it is contemporary,” Bleys replied. “But do not trouble yourself, I knew that the reference would be obscure at best, I merely thought that I would ask nonetheless.”
After a long awkward silence, Ethan continued, “You wouldn't happen to have any news of Wallbrook, or of the war, would you?”
“Only that o'Leinster has sailed from Outretowne with his fleet in anticipation of bolstering his numbers in Wallbrook, before attempting to land on Black Island soil.”
“Again? I heard about that failed Wallbrookian push a couple of years ago… I guess when Herman Land needs bodies to fill its army's ranks, Wallbrook answers the call. . .” He spoke with a strange mix of disappointment and pride. “So there looks like there is no end to it any time soon? What about signs that it might spread? Will other nations get involved?”
“Of course there are those who call for Wallbrook to make peace with the Baron, but those seem to be unheeded,” Bleys offered. “There is polite talk in Thrician court debating the merits of aiding our good neighbors, the Herman-landers, but if aid does come at all I suspect it will be nominal and late.”
Bleys continues in a flat, factual tone. “I expect a resolution soon. I believe Herman Land is losing an increasingly unpopular war and has not enough soldiers to continually sustain losses.”
Bleys the Aubergine stood and lifted his satchel to his shoulder. “The hour grows late. I have enjoyed our talk, but I do not wish to keep you.” He looked down at the now meticulously clean deep purple robes. “It comforts me to me know that even here, there are those to be found that hold true to our common purpose. Thank you.”
“We're doing important work down here. We're in the thick of it, so to speak, and I hope we get the honor of your help and that of your noble companions,” Ethan replied, taking Bleys' hand for a firm shake.
Bleys let himself out. “Thank you again. It sounds as if tomorrow is shaping up to be a fairly busy day. I am eager to get started. Good night.”
(1) This InterSession was played out on our messageboard forum after Session #18, but is presented here in chronological order of the campaign’s events.
(2) The hierarchy of the Academy of Wizardry includes a ‘Master’ for each of the schools of magic (save for necromancy).
(3) This is actually stuff from the character background written for Ethan.
I'm not sure if it is Bleys, or just the way Watchmages talk to each other, as I don't know that I can take Martin and Richard as a good example, but these conversations seem less than cordial. I get that Academy alumni are supposed to support each other despite personal feelings, but they seem so cold.
I'm not sure if it is Bleys, or just the way Watchmages talk to each other, as I don't know that I can take Martin and Richard as a good example, but these conversations seem less than cordial. I get that Academy alumni are supposed to support each other despite personal feelings, but they seem so cold.
~hf
Wait, are you saying that Martin/Richard conversations were cold too? I wasn't clear on that.
As for "less than cordial," I think they are cordial - but sometimes that is all they are.
In this case, though, I think it's Bleys not the general relationship between watch-mages.
I'd be curious what other readers, and the players themselves think on this issue. . .
I'm not sure if it is Bleys, or just the way Watchmages talk to each other, as I don't know that I can take Martin and Richard as a good example, but these conversations seem less than cordial. I get that Academy alumni are supposed to support each other despite personal feelings, but they seem so cold.
You really can't take Martin and Richard as a good example. Richard made a poor first impression, what with the mind control and the drow witches and the demon wolverines and the getting Jeremy killed and all. Later impressions only served to reinforce the original impression of a Machiavellian prick. And if you're talking about dealings between watch-mages, does a rogue watch-mage like Richard count at all?
As to Bleys, he's cold to everyone. You can't expect him to be friendly to other watch-mages when he's not friendly to anyone at all, ever.
The next day found the noble adventurers groaning from the aches of their battles and travails. Worst of all, not only had none of them recovered from the effects of the evil green stone in the chamber of masks, but Bleys was even worse off. He quickly found the piece of stone he had taken from the chamber of the masks from his pack (which he used as a pillow), and brought it to Ethan.
“This is a piece of that cursed stone we told you about,” Bleys explained. “It seems its effects linger, and in its presence may become even worse.”
The other watch-mage took it carefully and said he would bring it to Fallon to examine. She might be able to tell them something about it when they met with her after breakfast.
“It may be that we will need to go back to the tomb to rid ourselves of this affliction,” Markos said at breakfast. There was a dour mood hovering over the group, for Laarus and Victoria’s calling to their gods for healing had had no effect on the vile damage they were suffering from.
After breakfast, they were led to one of the large huts on the beach, and within its dim interior, amid many rugs and drying herbs and a small black stove, was the huddled form of Fallon. Dressed in gray, she was propped on a stool, and long white hair fell out of her deep hood that cast shadows on the crags of her face.
“Greetings…” She croaked, raising a withered hand.
“Greetings!” Timotheus replied happily. He introduced the party, except for Crusta, Dunlevey and Falco who were back in the other chamber. Telémahkos brought Tymon along in case his linguistic or geographical skills were needed.
“I choose to believe that the hands of fate have brought you here to us,” Fallon said. “As I am sure Ethan has warned you, the corruption of the Nine has infiltrated the nobility of Thricia. We cannot know who to trust, and for all we know one or more of you here might already so tainted… But we choose not to believe that, and that you have the good of your people, and of people in general in mind…”
“I have heard such a rumor in the past,” Timotheus offered. “Were there not other nobles who were once allied with the Nine?”
“Yes,” Fallon replied. “But they are dead, or their influence gone. There was Gelton Tenbrook who was banished from his House by pain of death, and is said to have met his end in Neergaard…”
“That’s the guy! That’s the guy I was talking about!” Timotheus was pleased with himself.
“There was also Delorius Nathanalus of House Brill. Our information tells us that she has fallen out of favor with the Nine, her own personal drive for revenge against a band known as the Oath having blinded her to that organizations nefarious goals,” Fallon continued. 1
“Is not the Oath the band that discovered the Nine’s use of the Sunra city of Highport some years ago?” Bleys asked.
Fallon nodded. “I have worked with them a few times before, but they have gone missing. There is among another band of adventurers who works with us a young marshal of the god Thor who seeks out his master, a dwarven priest of the thunder god who was the leader of the Oath… Well, some people say the militant of Anhur among their number was the leader, but I knew them well, and knew the truth… This other band calls themselves ‘the Promise’ in honor of the Oath, but we have not heard from them for a time either. Last we knew they were investigating a dervish camp to the east…” 2
“So we would not be the only ones aiding you in this?” Victoria of Anhur asked.
“When one is fighting a group as well-connected and resourceful as the Nine there are many different places where many different talents are needed…” She brought her hand to her withered mouth and coughed, sending spasms through her frail swollen body. She took a deep rasping breath before continuing. “Excuse me… When you get to be my age… It is a time of turmoil in the Kingdom of the Red God of the West. The politics of the place are a lot less uniform than most outsiders would think… The interpretation of their dogma varies and each of these groups asserts its power and influence at different times in different ways, leading to the varied relations with that nation that Thricia has had over the years. The fundamentalists believe that true believers should continue the journey westward, looking for paradise here on Aquerra, interpreting their texts very literally. They do not care for war or dealing with Thricia, except to escape them and reach their promised reward. The moderates, who are in power now, interpret their scripture as meaning that paradise awaits after death. They seek to eliminate the influence of outsiders, increase the buffer between the two nations and eliminate all non-humans in their lands. If war is what is needed to accomplish this, then they will do it, but from what we can gather, it is not their first choice. And lastly, there are the so-called ‘progressives.’ They gain influence, and are sometimes allied with the moderates. They interpret their texts to mean that paradise in the west is for them to create for the benefit of true believers. They accept that there are no more islands to the west 3 and instead seek to conquer all of the Spice & Thread Islands, including Thricia, as a bulwark against the outside world… They are the most dangerous… They are the ones most willing to interpret scripture in any way necessary to justify their goals… They are the one most likely to work with the Nine in order to increase their number of slaves to run their theocratic plantations, to allow for more of their true believers to become soldiers and dervishes in preparation for invasion…”
“If the Nine are providing slaves to the Rubes in preparation for an invasion, then their possible connection to the Hobgoblins of the Blue Claw makes sense…” Telémahkos mused. “It will weaken Thricia’s ability to respond…”
Again, Fallon nodded. “We are very interested in knowing more of this possible hobgoblin connection, and that too may fall under your ability to look into for us… eventually… But more pressing is figuring out who among the Thrician nobility is working against us… And to that end we have a possible source of information. Someone who used to be a member of the Nine and had connections to House Vandermok. However, from what the rumors say, there is no love lost there any longer…”
Bleys’ brow furrowed with the mention of the Vandermoks.
“We do not know who it is, but one of our agents does, and when you return to civilization, we can arrange for you to be contacted with this information so you may seek this person out and see if we might garner their help…” Fallon continued.
“So you do not know the names of the other members of the Nine?” Laarus asked.
“We know some… There is Ignus of Set, who took over for Ajakstu who was killed by the Oath in Highport. There is Nimnott Grick, an evil trickster gnome, exile of his people… You already know of Stygian Demonborn… And finally, most distressing… We have learned that the pirate-queen Misery Tlalok is now a member, and she has brought her fleet of ships and her recently gained power over the Red Lantern Gang to their cause.”
“Is it possible that the Coopers are involved in the machinations of the Nine?” Telémahkos asked.
Fallon shrugged. “It is possible, however unlikely… The Coopers are no friends of Misery or the Red Lantern Gang…”
“So House Vandermok is no longer involved with the Nine?” Bleys asked.
“No… We have reason to believe that they still do, that of the nobles involved, the Vandermoks are the most likely, but we think there may be others…” Fallon explained. “Our own spies have brought back information about something they called ‘the Vandermok Investment.’ It seems noble coins are making their way into slaver coffers in hopes of some return further down the line… The only name we have though is ‘Torn’.”
For once there was no need for discussion, the Signers of the Charter of Schiereiland readily agreed to aid the Broken Circle however they could.
“One thing…” Victoria said. “While I have no desire to expose your noble work, if I am asked by a superior about your group or about the Nine I will not be able to hide what I know in good conscience…”
“Of course… We would not ask you to betray past promises for this more recent one,” Fallon said, solemnly. “But with a bit of help from Bes, no one will have reason to ask you such a thing if you do not offer it…”
Victoria nodded.
“Now… You must have questions for me…” Fallon said.
And they did. Bleys wanted to know more about Fallon herself. How an old and infirmed woman named for a goddess made it out to the wilderness so close to an relic blessed her namesake. Fallon had no answer for this that she was willing to give aside from divine providence.
“We are ill and are not sure what to do about it…” Markos said. “There was this green stone…”
“Ah, yes… Vile…”
“Yes, it certainly is…” Markos replied.
“No, it is called ‘Vile Stone,” Fallon said. She explained that the evil stuff occurs naturally in some places where stone from the elemental plane of earth is extruded through the negative material plane and into their world to create it. Its effects could only be countered on consecrated ground.
Fallon’s shoulders sagged. The long discussion had tired her out, and the young nobles politely withdrew back to the cave to discuss their options.
(1) These are events from The Oath Campaign played from 1996 to 2000. Delorius was one of that game’s recurring villains. You can read about the Oath’s infiltration on the city of Highport, and their conflict with the Nine, here.
(2) Clearly, this is the band the party heard word of while in New Harbinger, back in Session #4.
(3) Ships that travel west of the Spice & Thread Islands either never return, or come back after weeks of travel with no sight of land.
I meant that relations between Richard and Martin were always tense, but for good reason, and therefore couldn't be counted as normal. I understand that Bleys is pretty cold all the time, but is that typical for Watchmages? Are they trained to be that way, or is it just him?
The talk with Fallon is interesting. I wonder if it is merely coincidence that she is so near to the artifact of her namesake.
Thanks for the update.
)
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