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!
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?
~hf
It's just him. Or at least, it varies. . . I think it was clear that Ethan was happy to see Bleys, and if you remember Oroleniel the Salmon was taken off-guard by the insistence of Laarus' questioning - considering it oddly hostile.
For those of you who don't already read Bleys' Journal , I am currently posting pictures of the miniatures that I am painting for our campaign use. For a peek at Laarus check this out.
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Last edited by Rastfar; 20th February 2008 at 10:41 PM..
handforged,
Thanx for the compliments, your take on Bleys reaffirms for me that I am playing his personality as I originally envisioned (which I was anticipating would be much more problematic than it has been). What's more (and harder) the notes are being taken well, (thanx Ciaran) and the greatest challenge of all, el-remmen captures it all in the retelling - a true wordsmith that one. Yes, Bleys is rather cold. This of course reminds me that I believe his first point of reputation should be 'Steely +1'. But he is hardly dispassionate, or cold-blooded. I like to think of him as 'all-business'. As to the Watch-mage portion of the discussion, well, I believe that Bleys is not the norm. Ethan the Pearl, Oroleniel the Salmon, Malcolm the Bronze, these are great examples of what Watch-mages are generally like. That is to say, they are much more approachable, warm, connected, emotional and gregarious, but that does not exclude them from also being hard-nosed when they have to be. I am glad that you are liking the Story Hour as much as we are creating it.
I would be curious to hear who readers' favorite characters are becoming?
As the party left their meeting with Fallon, Laarus stood aside the entrance to the hut waiting for Markos. When his cousin emerged, the young priest of Ra gently touched him on the arm to slow him from following the others back to the caves. "Cousin, do you have a moment? I would like to speak with you."
Markos turned his weathered face to Laarus with bored wariness, "Yes, good cousin, how can I help you to endanger me needlessly today?" 2
Laarus ignored the slight and led the way to the edge of the scummy pond and a nook created by the tall tangled briar that obscured the area from the bog beyond. "It appears we shall be returning to Thricia quite soon. Sooner than expected…" Noticing for the first time that Crusta was following at a short distance the priest gestured towards her. "What do you intend to do about that?"
Thinking it was a sign for her to come over, Crusta hurried over and grabbed Markos by the arm and leaned her head low on his shoulder, closing her eyes in an expression of pure joy, a bit of drool pouring out of her gray crusty lips.
Markos frowned, "'That'? Perhaps you mean 'her?’” The mage sighed, and gently pulled Crusta off of him. "Crusta, I have some things to discuss with my cousin, would you give us some time alone?"
"Okay, Ko-Kos…" She waddled towards the caves, but stopped and looked back. "But we walk talk later, too…"
Markos winced at the endearment, but nodded and then turned back to Laarus, slapping at fat gnats bouncing against his face annoyingly. “While at first I encouraged Crusta to join us for purely intellectual reasons I have found her, unlike some others, to be genuine. I hope that she will learn some refinement, if lessons are offered, and I would like to learn more of how she manipulates arcane forces. That is what I hope for her, but as for what her eventually fate will be…? Well, I think, should be left to her. I think she has proven herself these last few days to not be a mindless brute compelled to do evil."
"I meant that," Laarus clarified by waving a hand around Markos’ shoulder. "Not just her, but the situation that surrounds you both. What could you hope to come of this?"
Markos' cocked an eyebrow with an expression of dubiousness. "I have already said what I hope. To be more specific, I hope to find someone to teach us both to be more polished and refined. On the subject of her witchcraft, I hope we can return to where her foci are hidden on the way back to the Ray-Ree." He paused and exhaled slowly, adding: "Why?"
“I had hoped you would have opened up to me more. But, if we must drag this out, so be it…” Laarus sighed. Do you intend to bring her back to Thricia with us?"
Markos looked nonplussed, "Perhaps you think I will find someone amongst the Ray-Ree to offer us instruction on etiquette?"
"Possibly…” Laarus replied, ignoring the sarcasm. “Both Admentus and Cineas have spent time in Thricia. They would have had experience with such… Or even here with the Broken Circle. The watch-mage and the friars should have the knowledge with which to train her." Laarus paused briefly, "But you did not answer the question. Is it your intention to bring her back to Thricia?"
Markos shook his head at his cousin’s literal-mindedness. "I intend to offer her the option of returning with us. I hope she will, or failing that, she will choose to make a life amongst the Ray-Ree."
"Do you comprehend what the consequences of bringing her back to Thricia will be?" Laarus asked.
Markos smirked, "I think I do, cousin. Do you? What do you think will happen?"
Laarus frowned at his cousin's tone. "What do you believe would be the consequences? I'd like to know how much you understand before I speak on it. It is not something to smirk about."
Markos' smirk became a sneer, "Cousin, stop playing games and speak your mind. What is your concern?"
Laarus came back with: "I intend to speak my mind. Why can you not speak yours?"
Markos stiffen, "I'm fΩcking losing patience with you here, Laarus, which is akin to a beggar losing coin. State your concern or move off while I attend to more important matters."
"If you don't see this as important, then you don't comprehend the consequences,” Laarus chided, standing up straighter. “Bringing her back with you would do much to sully our family's name and reputation. It would endanger our house socially, politically, and financially. Do you understand?"
Markos turned, his face growing flush. He took a deep breath and a few steps away from Laarus before turning again. "It is you who lacks comprehension, cousin. I suggest you let me do the thinking while you stick to being told what is right and wrong. I’m sure you mean well, but your manner is insulting. Now please leave me the fΩck alone so I can attend to something more important than soothing your fear of gray entering your black and white world."
He gave an exaggerated bow and began to move off.
"You are no longer on a boat in the middle of the ocean. Your actions, your associations affect others besides yourself. Even the smallest ripple can gain the power of a great wave," Laarus placed a calloused hand on his cousin’s shoulder and tried to get him to turn around. "Knowing this will harm our House - are you still willing to bring her to Thricia? Is that something you are willing to do to our family? To your mother?"
Markos continued to walk off, "Cousin, you assume I have a limited perspective on the matter: I do not. I believe I can manage the situation and that you are grossly oversimplifying it. Either trust in my judgment or not, but I am doing as I please, fully aware of the consequences of my actions, and I suggest you do the same."
Laarus quickly stepped around Markos and stopped directly in front of him, blocking his departure. "Believing this would be a situation one could handle alone shows that you are not fully aware. You are smart, cousin, but you are unwise to always think you know more than others… Since your return, you have been welcomed and are once again a part of our House. As such, you have a responsibility to it, and to our family… You cannot just do what you please."
"No cousin, I can do as I please,” Markos barked back. “What I can't do is think there are no consequences for doing so. I am aware of what the issues are and I will act accordingly. If you doubt I will act with the family’s best interests in mind, you fΩcking prick, then you should address that directly rather than speak to me like I'm a Gods-be-damned idiot who does not understand the world around him."
"You have just said you will do as you please knowing that doing so would not be acting in the best interest of our family. You have only been back two years, cousin. Most of that time spent at the University. There is more to understand than you realize." Laarus let his head hang and closed his eyes. "But, if you bear no responsibility for our House or concern for our family, then maybe there's another love I can appeal to." The priest of Ra looked up at Markos and his eyes stared into the mage with unnerving intensity, He continued, "Fallon has just warned us about the danger of Stygian Demonborn and the Nine. She urged us to keep quiet about them and any action we may take against them, lest harm befall us and others. With the information sent to Pyla and you walking around with one involved in Stygian's breeding project, how long do you think it will take for him to find out what we've done? And do you think he'll do nothing about it?"
"Gods you are dense!" Markos spat. "You have no idea what my thoughts on this are or what my plans are and you are making assumptions about how openly Crusta will present herself as well as how recognizable she will be to those who do happen to see her. As I said earlier, stick to the black and white… Or even better, go monochrome and leave the complexities of life to me. At the very least wait until I have some feedback from Crusta on this and leave me the fΩck alone! Again, I recognize that you mean well but you are overbearing and insulting to my intelligence. Please! Leave me be until I am calmer and you are ready to approach me to coordinate our efforts rather than to test me!" Once again, Markos began to move past Laarus.
Without turning around, Laarus responded. "You are right, cousin, I do not know your thoughts. But, it is not for my lack of asking. If you ever wish to share . . ." Markos left. Laarus remained standing in that spot, looking up toward the patch of sky visible through the tall arching bramble, and basking in the little of the sun's warmth reaching him.
Later that same day, after a few desultory practice swings with his newly acquired battle-axe1, Timotheus stomped away from the others to pace around the rest of the Broken Circle's lair. His insistence that the party drill and practice for at least an hour each day was always met with agreement in theory, but when it came down to doing it, there was little enthusiasm. Victoria was willing, and Telémahkos was genuine interested in improving his swordplay 2, but the others became easily distracted, or did not consider it a priority. And Markos recent comments in particular were driving Timotheus mad.3 The tall bastard Briareus wound up in a small cavern adjoined to where they were staying. There, Bleys pored over his books and maps.
"Damn that Markos!" Timotheus burst out, as much to himself as to Bleys. "Ra's nails, he's making me crazy. I'm trying real hard not to kick his teeth in, but it's a struggle, it really is."
Bleys looked up from the newly acquired tomes, one eyebrow raised, seemingly unphased by the sudden outburst and intrusion upon the solitude. "Is it?"
Tim blinked at Bleys, vaguely surprised that the laconic watch-mage had deigned to reply. "Damn right it is," he said. "I'm a damn good fighter. I sliced up a whole mess of bullywugs, I damn near kill a dragon, I break some weird sticky mummy monster's neck with my bare hands and smash a half dozen walking dead by myself. 4 But when I smack some guy full in the chest with a flail and he doesn't go down, does Markos say, 'Wow, that guy took a hit like that from Tim and he's still standing? What a beast!' No, Markos says, "Tim didn't take that guy down with one hit, that's so weak, we need to get us a real fighter!' That son of a whoring bitch!" Tim spat. "I'd like to see him fight up to snuff after three days with the bog flu. Or at all, for that matter. Spiteful little midget."
Bleys waited for the riptide of slander to quiet before answering. "Well, you have two options: You could easily arm him and challenge him to a duel. That would certainly learn him as to what skill it takes to truly combat a man."
"That's not gonna teach him anything. He knows he can't fight. He's already got beat down by Victoria and Telie. By my cousin, for gods' sake!" Tim shook his head. "But I'll do it if I have to. I don't want to, I'll look like a bully -- I'll be a bully -- but if I don't, I'll look like a wimp in front of the hirelings. And there's no way I'm gonna earn a commission if word gets round that I can't keep one bratty kid like him under control."
"Well," Bleys continued monotonously, "then the second option: Ignore him." Bleys quickly found his place on the page and he resumed reading. Before the burly warrior could interject, without looking up, Bleys added, "But he is right you know."
Tim sputtered. "Huh? What in the Nine Hells are you talking about?"
Bleys the Aubergine, methodically closed the copy of Prophetic Visions of the One5 he was perusing, and secured it in his satchel carefully. He stood up to meet the well-muscled soldier eye-to-eye.
"He thinks we need a real fighter, and so do I. He may believe there is better one out there. I do not. You have gotten sloppy, that is all. For some reason you have gotten caught up trying to prove something to someone. I do not know whom, and I do not care. I only care that no one dies while we wait for you to regain your prowess." Bleys continued to hold the much broader man's gaze. "The bastard sword was not about heritage, Timotheus, it was about dedication. 6 One that I know you must have, or surely you would not have lived to be the veteran soldier you are today. 7 The only question that remains is: what are we going to do about it? If you need to beat someone up, here I am. If you want to work, we can do that too." Bleys tensed, ever so slightly, attempting to ignore the pulsating blood vessel in the fighter's temple.
Timotheus grit his teeth and balled his fists. But instead of lashing out at Bleys, he contented himself with kicking over a nearby cot. "Damn it, Bleys. I do have something to prove! I fight. That's what I do. Taking down hobbos, protecting caravans, that's what I've done so far, but if I'm gonna make the kind of name for myself then I need to really do something in this world… I need to show what I can do! And if people are gonna undercut me and try to make me look bad, then I'll have to try that much harder."
He sighed and ran a hand through his now-shaggy hair. "Fine. I know, I got responsibilities here and now. I gotta pull it together. And I will. But I'm gonna need some other people to meet me halfway."
Bleys rubbed at the stubble now growing full on his chin. "Ignore Markos. He lashes out because he is scared. And he is smart enough to know that should you fall, easily the most seasoned of us, what is he to do versus the foe you've left standing? But you are not mad at Markos, not truly, you are mad at yourself. If you meet your expectations, others will do so as well."
"I think you're awful optimistic about their attitudes, but what the hell. I'm getting tired of getting chewed up and stabbed anyway." Tim sat down by the wall, his broad back against the stone. "I'm not sure if I'll be as good at drawing attacks away from you guys if I'm fighting canny. But I guess there's just the one way to find out, yeah?"
"That is correct." Bleys nods. "And I can think of plenty of cause for our opponents to attack you."
"What, is it the muscles? The seventeen different weapons?” He sat up and made a show of posing, flexing his thick arms and smiling his broad smile. “Or can they tell just from looking at me that I'm that awesome?" Tim’s grin melted as he saw no response the watch-mage. "No, don't answer that. I keep forgetting that you and jokes don't mix well."
Bleys only stared at Tim flatly. "Are we done here?" The watch-mage resettled himself and produced another book.
Timotheus jumped to his feet, stretched, and yawned widely. "Oh yeah, I also forgot that you hate people and don't want to have any friends. Fine, whatever… I'll leave you to your book of weird Rube religious drek. Thanks for the advice, I appreciate it." Receiving no response, the warrior ambled out of the chamber, leaving only the soft rustle as Bleys turned a page.
Markos nodded to Tim with a smirk as he passed him on his way in to speak with Bleys and upon finding Bleys engrossed in study he cleared his throat.
Bleys looked up from his work, "I am listening…" 8
(1) This axe was among the weapons wielded by the skeletons in the chamber of masks. (See Session #17)
(2) Telémahkos is working towards take a level of fighter for 4th level.
(3) Over the last few sessions, Markos had been making comments about the skill of the party’s warriors. Some of the comments were general, and some specific, but either way Timotheus took them personally. Some of these comments have made it into the story hour, some have not.
(4) Here Timotheus is referring to the events of Sessions #6, 7 & 8, Session #9, and #16 respectively.
(5) This is one of the books found in the ‘Deadmen’s’ secret treasure chamber. (See Session #18)
(6) This is a reference to Bleys’ inadvertent insulting of Timotheus’ heritage back in InterSession #8.2
(7) Tim’s reputation is ‘Veteran,’ for his time working as a guard on the caravans between Chalkour and http://aquerra.wikispaces.com/Azure]Azure[/url], and other settlements in the area of western Schiereiland.
(8) Markos went on to discuss more speculation and possible experimentation with the masks once the party was back in the tomb. The discussion was too detailed and ponderous to recreate here, and anyway, the point I wanted to make by including the Markos portion at all, was to show that the other members of the party seem to come to Bleys for advice or to vent.
Session #19– “Return to the Moor-Tomb” (part 1 of 2) 1
After the meeting with Fallon, the Signers fell to discussing the wisdom of returning to the tomb. Bleys went over the clues they had collected and they were picked apart in detail. 2 The discussion was long and at times heated, though both Victoria and Timotheus remained out of most of it. The militant simply felt it was foolish to don obviously magical and probably cursed masks without having a reason to think that the masks were nothing more than temptations to greedy tomb raiders. Timotheus was just not one for puzzles and riddles. He shrugged his shoulders and simply offered to don any mask the others thought the riddle pointed to.
Markos, Laarus and Bleys discussed the matter of consecration at length, and Telémahkos grew weary of it, especially since he was against going back. He retreated to clean his armor and oil his weapons, but after listening to them go over the clues from the obelisk and the writing in the chamber of masks over and over again with increasing worry over possible ways to interpret things, he could not hold back anymore and gave his own opinion of what they might mean.
“’What guise would you wager, to gain my master's favor?’” Telémahkos began.3 “Obviously that refers to the solution Bleys spoke of. A mask, that is, a guise will have to be donned to gain ‘the master’s favor’ and get beyond that chamber. We have to accept this theory or forget this whole game.”
He looked at Victoria and then continued.
“‘It leads to man's grief at the end of my master's leash’,” he glanced at Bleys’ open notes. “It says ‘man's grief’, not your grief so picking it doesn't necessarily do anything bad to us and all we need to do is figure out what this being that left this message or his master would think leads to grief at the end of a leash… But let’s leave that for now, and eliminate those clues that no longer apply because we have already passed them.”
The others were allowing him to continue, so he did. “’The immortal clock will never chime, for he who fears a simple climb.’ Victoria climbed the obelisk and found the tomb through the looking glass. This is straightforward and also reinforces that those seeking it will find eternal life. As Bleys mentioned, ‘the immortal clock will never chime’ could be said of undying skeletal guardians.”
Telémahkos took another look at the parchment and read aloud. “’Respect this tomb so firmly sealed, most giving gain admittance. A noble gift will gain fair yield, a shocking due for pittance.’ We gave enough to gain admittance, but were shocked. One possible way to reconcile what seems to be a contradiction is that the shock we experienced can be fainter or stronger based on one's generosity. Whatever the case, we were admitted by giving coin…”
He walked back over to his chain shirt and sat on the floor to look it over again. “’Those crossing deeps to gain the ground, may fall as biting fear is found[/i]’ I think that refers to the water we crossed, so that’s another one we can eliminate and finally, ‘Desire for gold may secrets show, but giving is still the killing blow.' This well may be the key we want. Desire for gold is a form of greed, of course. And greed could easily lead to man's grief at the end of a tyrant's leash. So is this saying that greed will reveal secrets or is greed revealing the secret of eternal servitude? Perhaps donning generosity is what needs to be done… Can generosity lead to man's grief at the hand's of a tyrant?” He stopped for a long moment, and then after letting out a long deep breath said. “I say it has to be greed or generosity.”
“I still think the masks are a trap for the greedy, but if you are going to do this, Anhur will do all in His power to free your soul should I be right. And if that isn't possible, I promise you a swift end,” Victoria said, standing.
Bleys stood and looked Victoria sternly in the eye. "I could want for no more." The tall man paused, as if seeing his companion again for the first time, "...and at the hand of none better." Uncharacteristically, he clapped a hand on Victoria's shoulder.
Everyone but Markos stood as well. Victoria looked to the watch-mage. “I still say it is not wise to experiment with donning magical masks. What say you?”
"Wise?" Bleys cocked an eyebrow. "Of course it is not wise. Wisdom has us grow old, surrounded by progeny, telling boring tales repetitively that no one listens to.” The watch-mage's baritone voice carried clear. "My aim is to study the masks more. My hope is we learn more. We will all be called upon to overcome this challenge..." Bleys looked to his brother-in-law, Telémahkos, nodding, "…to use our wits, and cunning..." And then to Markos "…our intellect…" to Timotheus "...our courage..." to Laarus "...our resolve, and insight..." He looked back to Victoria, "...and our noblest sense of duty and sacrifice. I know we can do it. We are smarter than old Dalvan." He paused, looking them all over again, before once again resting his gaze on Victoria. “As I said, I think the masks may indeed be a trap. I only volunteer to try them should it come to that. I am in no hurry to die."
Markos had been making no effort to appear as if he were paying attention, flipping through his spellbook and reading sections with obvious concentration, but as Bleys the Aubergine began to speak, he stopped and looked up, his face not contoured by his typical scorn.
“I agree that this is not a challenge beyond us, and I also agree with Telémahkos’ assessment, though I would say it was ‘generosity’ if I had to pick,” the young mage said.
Telémahkos looked to Markos with a smile that was rare when he typically addressed his companion. "Actually Markos, I think generosity just might be the one that makes the most sense."
"As to the tomb, we need to learn more. I feel we may still be missing something. Discussion may aid in finding it. Study will help us more. But, we must not give any speculation undue weight," Laarus said, looking to his companions. Markos rolled his eyes, but was nodding when the priest of Ra looked his way, continuing to speak. "I do not feel we should rush to any decision. Should the consecration work to stop the radiation of the vile stone, we will have six hours time. We should use that fully and wisely. We should learn as much about as many of the masks as we can by means of the magic available to us. And we should examine that room more carefully, gaining whatever other knowledge it may have to grant us. I believe what we may learn will give us our means to victory. Bleys, do you still have the piece of the vile stone you took from the tomb?" 4
The watch-mage shook his head, and after asking after Ethan, was informed that the piece of vile stone had been given to Viss’iss to drop into the deepest bog they knew of.
“That’s too bad,” Markos said when he heard the news. “We might have tested the effects of the consecration on it when cousin Laarus casts it in order for us to fully heal before returning to the tomb…”
“I am not going to cast the consecration until we are back in the tomb, so it is a moot point,” Laarus commented. This led to an outcry in the group.
“I never said I would cast consecrate before we entered the tomb,” Laarus said in response.
Markos was flustered, his face flashing shades of red that went from pure confusion to utter disgust at his cousin’s position.
“Well, let me put it to you simply,” Telémahkos said, his own anger evident in his halting words. “I am not going back in there until I am fully healed, and since I cannot be fully healed until you cast consecrate… Tell that to Ra!” He dropped his chain shirt roughly as he stood again and walked out of the chamber.
“I agree with Telémahkos,” Markos muttered.
“I think I see Laarus’ problem with casting it ahead of time,” Bleys said. “He only has the materials for two castings, casting one out here means having only one to use inside… What if there is more vile stone? Or some other challenge that requires consecration? He is being cautious…”
The priest of Ra nodded.
“Can we not get more of what we need to cast it?” Markos asked.
“One hundred and twenty-five pieces worth of powdered silver? I don’t think so,” Laarus replied. 5
“Well, we have silver coins don’t we? If I had an alchemist’s kit I could make some powder…” Markos speculated. An inquiry was put into the members of the Broken Circle, but no one had an alchemist’s kit.
“What if we go back the way we came out? That way we can retreat to the mud passages if need be?” Markos offered.
“We can’t go back the way we came,” Timotheus said. “The whole way was unstable, including the hole from the lake to the secret room… We can’t count on the fact that we will be able to escape the same way we did this last time at all…”
“So you are familiar with stonework and architecture?” Laarus asked Tim in a flat tone that was hard to detect for sarcasm.
“No, I am familiar with goopy walls of wet earth and clay that fall apart as you push your way through them,” Tim shot back.
“Yes, any plan has to assume that we cannot go back that way,” Bleys suggested. “In fact, we cannot even assume that once we go past the chamber of masks, that is, if there is even a somewhere else to go, that we will be able to go back the way we came at all. Most likely as we progress we will be closed off from areas behind us, as happened when we made out way down to the room with the vile stone…”
“Well, there was that one vertical shaft in the first cavern we came to, perhaps if we could get to the top of the hill we might be able to find a way down that way…” Timotheus thought aloud.
“Is any even a skilled enough climber to get up there to check?” Bleys asked. “I think we need to accept that we will need to pay the toll to enter once again…”
It was decided to let the matter rest for the day in order to allow them all to rest more and consider their options personally before bringing the matter back to the group again.
Osilem, the 10th of Keent - 566 H.E. (637 M.Y.)
The day after next they found themselves being led by Fiss’iss through the briar and bog back around the long way to the southern side of the hill and the entrance to the tomb of Dalvan d’Amberville.
On the intervening day the subject of the consecrate spell went round and round, but Laarus’ obstinacy never faltered. Bleys would only speak to the wisdom of both perspectives, and thus would not assert his own opinion, despite Markos and Telémahkos’ consternation. As usual, Victoria stood with Laarus and Timotheus was just eager to get back to fighting, feeling strong enough to deal with whatever may come.
Asked if they were sure they wanted to come, Falco gave up his share of whatever additional treasure was found in the tomb in order to wait behind with the Broken Circle, but much like Timotheus, Dunlevey was eager to return. “This is the kind of stuff I came here for!” He had said.
There was no question about Tymon following Telémahkos wherever he might go, and the same held true for Crusta in terms of Markos. There was, however, a long drawn out conversation about whether she understood what she was getting into, but when asked to make her own decision she would only do what Markos asked of her. When he asked her to make up her own mind, she said, “I do what you do…” And that was that.
Timotheus had confronted Markos about the latter’s recent comments disparaging the former’s skill as a warrior, and they managed to patch things up, if frostily. 6
Not too long after they stopped for some food that Ethan that packed them, salted meat and old hard cheese and a few skins of wine, Fiss’iss pointed out the way the party had to continue to get to the side of the hill with the small lake and the pedestal.
“May Ra bless our endeavors,” Laarus said solemnly as he began to drop more gold coins, one by one, into the great stained bowl before the pedestal of a long broken and lost statue. The Signers did much as they did the last time they found themselves there, and the moment the buzzing of the metal door and the sound of shifting stone ended, Bleys and Timotheus opened the door and held it, withstanding the increasing shocks.
As Markos retrieved Crusta and Laarus in his conjured boat, Telémahkos, Victoria and Tymon moved into the corridor beyond the metal door. Dunlevey took Bleys’ place, and the watch-mage joined the others. He asked that Victoria take Timotheus’ spot so that he would not be too hurt by the shocks, and she obeyed without hesitating. When the boat returned, Dunlevey and Victoria let go of the metal door and leapt in towards the others. The thick stone door slid into place behind the metal door, and once again they were trapped in the tomb of Dalvan Meir.
Another descent and once again the last stone door slid down trapping them in the green aura draped chamber, with its wide pillars in pairs in each corner holding up a vaulted ceiling. The great jagged stone protruding from the floor still glowed. The bones of the vanquished skeletons were scattered silently in the sinister place. Before the stone could begin to pulse again, Laarus Raymer of Ra began to trace a circle of powdered silver around it while chanting to his deity. Victoria of Anhur stood by silently, watching over her fellow priest as he performed his invocation to Ra. Bleys, Markos and Crusta watched the ceremony intently, as Telémahkos and Timotheus walked over to inspect the hole in the wall they had uncovered their last time here. It has sunk down to half its height, and while it seemed to still reach up to the chamber beyond, its sides and ceiling looked less stable than ever.
“We can only go this way if there is no other hope,” Telémahkos said, and his cousin nodded.
“And may Ra’s holy light and divine power dispel and disperse the evil within this tomb!” Laarus of Ra finished his spell, and the weight of oppressive evil lightened in the room. The stone’s glow became even duller than normal.
“Thank you, Ra,” Markos said quietly.
“Glory Ra,” Bleys echoed.
“Praise Ra,” Timotheus joined his voice to the others.
“Okay, let’s get to work,” Telémahkos clapped his hands and began to search the room counter-clockwise, starting with the pillars.
Markos cast detect magic and let out a gasp. Nothing detected as magical, save for the aura of Laarus’ consecration itself, including the masks, which Bleys has laid out on the floor.
“Our theory about the consecration counter acting the vile stone was correct,” Bleys surmised. “But it seems the masks need to be bathed in the aura of the stone to possess their magic.”
There was nothing more to do, but wait for the spell to end and make use of the time until then. Laarus began to search the pillars opposite from where Telémahkos began and Timotheus and Dunlevey joined him. Markos joined Telémahkos in his search, who already had Tymon helping him. Bleys began to hang the masks on the small stone protrusions that acted as pegs on each pillar. He took out his notes on the Moor Tomb map and placed the masks back in the order that the skeletons that had worn them were originally found in. Meanwhile Victoria called on Anhur to heal the group’s wounds from the vile stone’s radiation.
“This is the least profitable dungeon ever!” Timotheus complained when a couple of hours had passed. They combed every inch of the place, and an excited call from Telémahkos when he discovered a seam in the stone around one of the vile stone plaques was deflated by the realization that such a seam existed around each of them. Timotheus even climbed the vile stone itself to see if there was some new perspective to be gained from that vantage, but there was nothing he could note.
The slowly collapsing tunnel they had used last time seemed to become more likely a means of egress the more time passed. Timotheus and Markos cooked up a scheme to wedge the way open by conjuring a boat into it, so the sea-mage took some time to trade out previously prepared spells for some new choices.7 Telémahkos was very skeptical of the effectiveness of the idea, and Bleys continued to work at the clues given by the obelisk.
Soon, at Laarus’ word they braced themselves for the passing of the consecration spell. The great jagged stone’s glow grew more intense once again, and Laarus nodded with an edge of sadness to his stern face. Bleys cast detect magic and once again saw the auras of the masks. He immediately walked over to begin examining one more closely, gesturing to Markos to do the same. The smaller wizard cast the same spell and also went to work. They did their best to keep from looking at the vile stone, which emanated a nearly blinding plume of strong necromancy.
As they examined, Bleys making quick notes on the back of his map, the vile stone sent out a pulse of its vile energy and they all felt the deep chill of evil sap them of some of their life force. Most of the masks had some variety of necromantic and enchantment dweomers on them, but the mask with the rune Laarus translated as ‘greed’ emanated divination and some other strong aura neither could identify.
“Probably necromancy,” Bleys said. “My guess would be greed, as it is different from most of the other masks. However, the mask of ‘generosity’ also has a different dweomer than the pattern… Abjuration…”
“Abjuration could be it…” Markos reasoned. “That is protection magic and we are looking for something to protect us from this place…”
“This is all gibberish to me,” Timotheus complained.
Telémahkos nodded. “Are we going to try the ‘greed’ mask or try to get out of here by way of the tunnel?” he said, eying the still narrowing hall.
“I will put on the mask if such a guess is to everyone’s agreement,” Bleys said. “It is what I would choose.”
“No, I can try the mask,” Laarus said.
“It should be me,” said Victoria, stolid as usual.
“No offense to you, noble militant,” Bleys said, carefully. “For I only mean to compliment your prowess… But if you should try the mask and it took over your will, I would rather it not be you we were forced to fight…”
“I said, I would wear whichever one you brains thought was the right choice,” Timotheus said.
“We have the same problem with you that Bleys mentioned about Victoria… If Bleys is willing, then he should try…” Telémahkos said. “But I still think this is crazy…”
“You know…” Markos began, his expression going to that placid place of peace that it only found when he was applying his massive intelligence to a problem. “I was leaning towards ‘generosity,’ but now that I think about it. If ‘greed’ is divination, perhaps it is what ‘secrets show,’ and once we see what we are meant to see with that mask, it is the ‘generosity’ one that will protect us…”
“I have reached the same conclusion…” Bleys replied. “We may be wrong, but no answer will ever feel completely right save that we trust our own abilities to divine the truth…”
“That reasoning works for me,” Telémahkos said, eager nervousness in his voice. His eyes kept darting back to the vile stone in anticipation of its next pulse.
Bleys the Aubergine removed his sword belt and handed it, saber and all to Telémahkos. He then cast protection from evil and resistance on himself.
“I’ll do it!” Markos suddenly said, and stepped towards the ‘greed’ mask up on the pillar peg, but Bleys was just able to grab it first.
“Do not be foolish,” he said to his fellow wizard. The watch-mage turned and looked at the others solemnly. “Tell my sister I love her…” And with that he held the mask to his face.
(1) This session was played on Sunday, October 28th, 2007.
(2) The first portion of this installment is a reconstruction based on discussions both at the table and made via our messageboards between sessions. The amount of detailed examination of the clues and the back and forth and disagreement made making it its own InterSession prohibitive, but at the same time the discussion itself was important to moving the plot forward, thus the inclusion of some of it here.
(3) Telémahkos is referring to the message inscribed on the floor of the chamber of masks. (See Session #17)
(4) Bleys took the piece from the vile stone plaque in Session #17, and gave it to Ethan the Pearl to dispose of in Session #18.
(6) See InterSession #18.3: Timotheus’ Complaint. The notes on the reconciliation (which took place at the session) were vague except for it being “frosty,” and my own note that, “Tim and Markos have ‘an Oprah moment’.”
(7) In Aquerra, wizards can change spells they have already prepared by taking fifteen minutes per spell level. If the re-preparation is interrupted, then it becomes an empty slot until the full time of re-preparation can be accomplished.
I am on the edge of my seat! It was quite wonderful hearing how the group was able to reason out the puzzle of the masks. Also, I love Bleys's little pull-the-group-together speech. Good jobs all.
Please don't make us wait too long for the next installment.
Please don't make us wait too long for the next installment.
~hf
I plan to put up the conclusion of Session #19 sometime this weekend, but there may be another delay after that as writing up #21 has been slowed by schoolwork and life, and I never start posting a session until the session after it has been written up.
We just played Session #26 last Sunday and are schedule to play again the Sunday after this (March 16).
Session #19– “Return to the Moor-Tomb” (part 2 of 2)
Bleys stiffened as he felt the mask adhere to his face, holding in a sharp breath… But then he let it go. Save for the mask being stuck, he could feel nothing else wrong. The others looked at him expectantly, Telémahkos gripping his magical rapier so tightly, he was readjusting his fingers every few seconds. Bleys looked around and there, behind one of the vile stone panels, he could sense something. He looked and concentrated, and suddenly the panel became translucent to his vision, and behind it was a rune. It was the same rune as on the mask of generosity. He could also see the faint outline of a door there…
“Generosity!” He said, and another pulse of the vile stone made them all wince. Markos hurried over and grabbed the ‘generosity’ mask, but before he could put it on, Laarus stopped him, casting the same spells on his cousin that Bleys had cast on himself. Markos Ackers put on the mask and it adhered as well. Nothing looked any different, but he walked over to the panel Bleys indicated and touched it. It sprung back, revealing a narrow hall going off to the left.
The Signers of the Charter of Schiereiland could not help it, a cheer burst forth from them, and Telémahkos moved forward, dragging Markos out of the way in order to check for possible traps. “Can anyone provide me a light?” he asked, and a moment later Bleys had a radiant spark hovered over the blond Briareus.
He could note nothing out of the ordinary, but he was hurrying, as the vile stone was sure to pulse again soon.
“If you think its clear, go!” Markos said.
“What if you’re supposed to go first with that mask on?” Telémahkos asked.
“Or what if I am supposed to see something with this one,” Bleys said, his voice slightly muffled, pointing to the mask still stuck to his face. After a brief discussion that seemed too long given the circumstances, Markos and Bleys went in first, followed by Crusta and Telémahkos. Then came Timotheus, then Dunlevey and Tymon, and finally Laarus and Victoria. The stone pulsed once last time as they went through, seeing that the narrow hall soon ended in a set of very steep stone steps leading down. Soon after they were all in the hall, the door to the chamber of masks closed of its own accord, sealing them away from their only known egress. The masks fell off Bleys and Markos’ faces.
Telémahkos squeezed his way to the front and soon he led the way down the narrow steps checking the walls and steps for any irregularities that might betray some trap or other danger. The sound of stone sliding against stone joined that of their breathing and of their boots upon the steps, as walls slid down to seal the way back. One slid down at the top of the steps, another when they were fifty feet down and another when the long steps had led them seventy-five feet down,
“These walls could be seen as a metaphor for life and death,” Markos’ whisper seemed overloud.
“They need not be a metaphor… They are life and death for us at the moment…” Bleys replied, seeking to end the discussion, but Markos continued with his analogy.
“Markos? Please! How can we hear if anything is coming or if any mechanisms go off?” Telémahkos’ voice had a pleading quality of exasperation.
“Anyone else smell that?” Timotheus said before Markos could reply. “Smells like bad wine…” And there was a vinegary smell that was reaching them. Telémahkos noted that the steps abruptly ended in a narrow shaft straight down. He could not see the bottom with the radiant spark, so it was more than twenty feet deep.
Telémahkos got down on his hands and knees, pulling the skirt of his toga up, and began to examine the shaft. “There seem to be some kind of handholds carved into the shaft…” He said. “Looks like it should make the climbing easy for anyone that isn’t totally clumsy…” He stood and looked at Laarus when he spoke the last few words.
“A simple climb…” Bleys said. “It was written twice and this is the second simple climb… It is even in the right order of the clues…”
“Why would this Dalvan want to even give clues?” Victoria wondered aloud. “What does he have to gain from people finding his final resting place?”
“It is some nefarious plot, no doubt…” Bleys offered. “But we shall find out and foil it soon enough…”
Telémahkos began to climb down, a rope tied about his waist. Timotheus held the other end. At the bottom he found that the narrow hall continued another twenty feet before leading into a larger room from which the acrid smell was coming. It took some time, but all the others finally made it down. They squeezed into the remainder of the hall as another stone wall slide down to obstruct the way back.
The room beyond was rectangular and greater than forty feet long, making the far end draped in shadow beyond the light of the radiant spark, but at a word from Bleys the spark shot across the room. They could now see that a narrow stone walkway led around a shallow depression that made up most of the room. In the far corner held a column with a strange statue carved into it. It was of a muscular bare-breasted woman with the head of mantis. It was nine feet tall.
Markos took an arrow from Bleys’ quiver and laid down beside the edge of the depression, holding the arrow out. The bottom was about four feet down and covered in a few inches of brownish liquid that gave off the strong smell. The mage’s nostrils stung as he got close to it, and then he grimaced as the steel head of the arrow bubbled when immersed. “Acid,” he said, rolling away from the edge and back to his feet. There were deep cracks in the seams of the stones that made up the depressed floor. “I would bet coin that once this whole thing was filled with it, but over time it has seeped down between the stones…”
Telémahkos moved carefully to the left side of the room where the stone pathway hugged the wall on its way around to where the statue was on the opposite diagonal corner. He looked it over carefully before stepping out. Nothing happened immediately, but a little more than five feet in there was a groan of moving stone. The twenty-foot piece of stone path Telémahkos walked on tipped to the right, threatening to spill him off into the acid. Lucky for him, the sliding stone mechanism was not working as it was supposed to, and it got stuck at about a forty-degree angle. Deft of foot, he leaned his weight back and kept from tumbling off.
“Uh-oh!” Tymon said, as they all heard the sound of scraping stone and looked up to see the caryatid column 1 come to life, the stone insect-headed woman with pincers for hands stepping off the platform to splash into the shallow acid and stir up a cloud of the caustic stuff. Telémahkos leapt back onto the non-slanted section of stone.
“Oh no!” Crusta moaned.
Bleys willed the radiant spark to hover near the living statue, while he cast his shield spell. Dunlevey drew his great sword and stepped up to the edge of the depression.
“Does anyone want to be enlarged?” Markos asked, eagerly.
“Sure!” Timotheus cried, coming forward. Markos began to cast.
“Anhur, I call upon your holy chosen weapon to fight for me where I cannot reach!” Victoria called to her god and a silver and blue translucent spear appeared hovering next to the construct. It stabbed at it to no visible effect.
“Bleys! Should I try to get to the other side and see if this thing can be turned off?” Telémahkos looked to the leader of the party for instruction, even as Tymon looked to him with worry as to what to do himself.
“Only if you can come back,” Bleys replied, so Telémahkos began to balance across the slanted stone path as quickly as he dared.
“Oh no! Oh no!” Crusta moaned again, showing true fear of this magical guardian. She ran back towards the narrow hall pushing Tymon as she went past. The portly man lost his balanced and fell face first into the acid. He screamed as it burned his face and hands and he scrambled to his feet desperately. He looked up to find Laarus of Ra leaning over the edge with a hand outstretched. Tymon grabbed the priest’s hand and was yanked up.
Meanwhile, Dunlevey was reeling from a blow from the thing’s clawed hand. “Aw, fџck this!” he cursed and leapt down into the acid to reach the tall monster with arms longer than even a great sword. The sell-sword’s boots sizzled as he splashed in it, tiny holes burning in his leggings. Victoria gave chase, but leapt right into the thing’s grasp. Only the weight of her fall kept her from being clasped by the neck, and she swung wildly, twisting away as she felt her breath momentarily closed off. The weapon crunched as it struck the heavy magic-laden stone of the living statue. A crack went down the wood and a few more blows like that and it would become useless. 2
“Okay, let’s surround this thing and finish it off!” Timotheus ordered with the tone of a veteran, his voice deepening as he grew in size. He stepped down into the acid as well, moving to flank the caryatid column with Victoria. The militant dropped her morningstar. “This pit will be your grave not ours!” She cried and drew a spear from her back. The thing shattered as she drove it up under the creature’s head. There was barely a scratch to show for the ruined weapon, but at least there was a scratch.
“Digitus magicus!” Markos cast prestidigitation to clean the acid off of Tymon’s face and then he took off past the statue, kicking up more acid in his hurry.
“Ko-kos!” Crusta shrieked taking off after him. She had to duck to avoid the statue’s swing at her as she went by.
Tim’s flail rang off the stone creature again and again, though the painful reverberations shook his bones, the blows only made the smallest of cracks, if any at all. Dunlevey’s great sword was showing obvious signs of dulling and bending, and Victoria drew another spear from her back, and this one shattered against the statue as well. One of Dunlevey’s heavy blows knocked it off its feet, and they hammered at it as it got up, but to little effect. Timotheus’ armor crunched as the thing drove its pincer hands into his gut. Tim let out a cough and tasted blood in his mouth.
Everyone’s eyes burned from the acid mist in the air from the disturbance of the narrow layer of it at the bottom of the pit. They could taste it at the back of their throats, burning their lips and singing their nostrils.
Laarus called to Ra to cure some of Victoria’s wounds as he hurried by, having leapt into the pit as well to make his way across to where Markos was climbing onto the stone path with Crusta’s help. Telémahkos was searching the black stone door that was now visible in the corner where the caryatid column had been. As the priest ran he grew light-headed, and felt himself gag, nearly overcome by the acid flying all over the place. 3 Bleys had a similar idea about getting to the other side of the room, but he tried navigating the sloping path as Telémahkos had. He did not prove as deft, and landed with a splash at Timotheus’ feet. The tall warrior danced away to avoid tripping over the watch-mage, leaving him momentarily open to the statue’s attacks, but Victoria shattered another spear, and the stone protested as a chunk of its side came chipping off.
“Don’t let up!” Timotheus encouraged, as Bleys hurried through the acid to climb back up to the stone lip with the others.
Tymon let loose a crossbow bolt, but it shattered as it struck the thing’s chest.
Victoria grunted as the thing shoved her back with a heavy blow as she knelt to pick up her morningstar. Acid dripped off of it and scored the sides of the weapon, flicking in a wide stream as she swung at the creature, hitting it in the leg to no visible effect. The metal of Tim’s heavy enlargedflail swung with the warrior’s great strength seemed the only attacks that was doing any serious damage to the thing, and finally one heavy blow sent the statue flying onto its back. As it awkwardly got back up Timotheus swung the flail up from the left and brought it down on the statue’s head with all his weight and might. The head exploded into a thousand shards of stone. The caryatid column stopped moving.
The acid was beginning to show its effects on all of them, especially Bleys and Victoria, who felt their lungs burn as they struggled to climb up onto the ledge. Tymon mewled as he hurried across the acid, cringing with every step. Telémahkos was still searching the door, Markos used prestidigitation to clean himself and his companions off as best he could.
“Shall we not try the masks again?” Victoria said.
Bleys placed the ‘greed’ mask back onto his face and once again it adhered there. And once again, he saw the rune for ‘generosity’ within the outline of the door. Markos did the same with the ‘generosity’ mask and made his way to the front. The door opened for him easily, and beyond was a hall with walls of hardened clay set with many different formations of lacquered bones. They hurried in to get away from the sickening mist, and the door sealed behind them. Unlike last time, the masks Bleys and Markos wore did not drop off.
Once again they were in a narrow hall, crammed into its thirty-foot length. There was another door of black stone on the right side of the hall at the far end. Bleys the Aubergine moved to the front and could see the now familiar rune upon the door. He instructed Markos to open it, but Telémahkos protested, insisting on examining the door closely before it was opened. Once he gave the all clear, Markos walked over and touched the door and it clicked open, letting the fetid stench of death waft in from the other side.
With a word from Markos Ackers, a brazier ignited dimly lit the dark room beyond. The chamber was about half the size of the room with acid, and there was another brazier against the opposite wall from the closer one. The ceiling was vaulted but barely ten feet high, and the walls were decorated with the tattered remains of musty tapestries. At the far end of the room was a large stained marble dais with a large sarcophagus atop it. Bleys immediately spotted a tarnished and twisted decorative silver sword on the floor by the dais.
Timotheus squeezed his way forward and walked in first, thus he was the one that spotted the figure rising from the sarcophagus. “We’ve got a problem!” Tim announced.
As the figure stepped out of the stone coffin, Bleys sent his radiant spark into the room. It wore tattered clothing that revealed gray nacreous flesh. It had long wild hair, and a face distorted by large teeth in its human-jaw, and rheumy bulbous eyes emerging from a sallow face. Behind it on the dais was a thick red curtain that clearly obscured a passage beyond.
“Finally!” The thing croaked. “Some has arrived to set me free! I am Dalvan d’Amberville. No! We are Dalvan! No, not Dalvan. We shall be free! We shall finally be free!”
Dalvan, if the thing was who it claimed to be, spoke with an odd manner. His head jerked back and forth, and his voice changed tenor, as if he were answering himself.
“I think he’s crazy!” Timotheus hissed to his companions who were slowly coming into the room. “Good afternoon!” Timotheus smiled and addressed the thing. “So, are you Dalvan or not?”
“I am Dalvan!” the thing croaked with anger, but then its head sunk and it brought it hand up to its forehead, it thick black claws glinted in the spell’s light. “No, I am not! Yes, we are! Either way, we must eat!” And with that he leapt off the dais with a deftness belying his hideous state.
“Anhur! Please let me see another battle!” Victoria cried out to her god and then choked down one of the potions of aid that the young nobles had found among Herzah Blacktooth’s things. It was like sour milk and vinegar, but she felt its strength fill her.
“Master, what should I do?” Tymon looked to Telémahkos for help, but Telie was making a show of going into the room, while actually delaying his own entry, the stench of death worrying him. “Follow Dunlevey in,” he said to his manservant.
“May Ra’s holy light guide your strikes!” Laarus of Ra cast a spell, reaching out to touch Timotheus’ sabre as he stood shoulder to shoulder with his companion. 4 Dunlevey joined the line as the thing that claimed to be Dalvan slowed its approach, almost creeping as it appraised the preparing warriors.
“You wanna fight or you wanna talk?” Timotheus asked the thing with bravado. “Because if you want to fight, get to it, because we are going to take you down!” He sliced his saber back and forth with great flourish. But in that moment it became clear why the thing tarried, for the smell of death that filled the room had its source in him, and now not more than fifteen feet from the thing, it roiled off in visible waves of wispy green. Dunlevey, Laarus and Timotheus felt their stomachs turn, and Laarus who was already sickened from all the acid he had inhaled, gagged.
“Anhur! Grant us a boon in this battle against evil necromancy!” Victoria called to her god once again, blessing the battle as she moved to the left flank of the line of warriors. Laarus called to his god as well, clutching his holy symbol to channel positive energy in a burst around him and call the glory of Ra, but the darkness of this place was too deep, and Laarus faith not strong enough in the moment for it to work.
Dunlevey came forward, sidestepping to draw it towards Victoria, but it was not without some prowess in combat. Suddenly in its right hand there flashed a knife with a blade made from sharpened green stone that glowed dully, as the great shard had in the chamber of masks. Dunlevey gasped as the knife sliced a hole in his chain mail, and he felt a deep, now all too familiar chill deep inside of him 5
“I will eat your brains, and…” It began, but Timotheus’ roar drowned it out. He charged forward, but the ghoulish Dalvan easily ducked and rolled away from the blade. This would have left an opening for Laarus, but the priest of Ra could no longer resist and began to vomit, his body wracking with painful spasms. 6 Laarus Raymer crawled over to the corner by the door, helpless.
“Anhur! Let this thing not be the end of us!” Now Victoria was having a conversation with her god, bellowing out pleas to him as she moved around the creature trying to draw it away from the others. It swatted away the spear, effectively ignoring and angering her further.
“Deprehensio veneficus! Bleys cast detect magic as he entered the room and the mask fell off. He could immediately see that the knife the Dalvan-thing was wielding was magical, but so was a ring it wore on the other hand. Markos had already moved into the room, putting away the ‘generosity’ mask, as he made his way into the left hand corner. “Lorca magica,” he chanted, casting mage armor on himself.
Unable to delay any further, Telémahkos tumbled into the room and stabbed at the thing with the Steel Whip, snapping off a chunk of flesh from its forearm, even as the first whiff of the thing weakened him.
“You will die first!” Dalvan said, looking directly at Telie. He stepped towards him, grabbed and stabbing at him. It even reached forward to bite him, but Telémahkos danced aside, letting out little frantic shrieks of fear, momentarily forgetting the duelist’s stance he had been trying so hard to perfect recently. “Get it off of me!” he cried, pushing and thrusting wildly with the magical rapier.
Undead Dalvan took advantage of the distraction and thrust the blade at Timotheus, who barely swatted it away with his own weapon. Dunlevey tried to avoid being grabbed by the creature’s other hand, and in doing so moved too close to it and felt a sharp bite on his neck. Instinctively, he drew back, but found that there was a deepening ache in his limbs as his reactions slowed down. Less than a moment later he was standing perfectly still, his muscles rigid, his eyes burning.
Bleys hurried across the room, avoiding the melee, followed by Tymon, but he passed too close to the ghastly remains of the thing saying it was Dalvan. Already feeling woozy from the inhaled acid, he too began to vomit, holding the edge of the dais for support.
The Signers of the Charter of Schiereiland closed in around the undead thing. Markos’ right hand crackled with electricity as he moved in and grabbed at the thing. All he got for his efforts was a deep cut to his chest from the vile stone blade. He felt the coldness of the wound run deep, and faltered, allowing the ghastly Dalvan to sidestep away.
“Ko-Kos!” Crusta cried, moving in behind her boyfriend.
“Pile it on! Don’t give it a chance,” Timotheus ordered, closing in and swinging of his saber, and barely avoiding it when it clawed at him. Tymon came rushing in to his master’s aid, longsword in hand, but accidentally cut across Victoria’s vantage, and she pulled back her spear hurriedly. “Argh! Tymon! Stay out of the way!”
Startled, the portly man lost his footing as he thrust his sword and wobbled there trying to keep from falling. 7 Dalvan ignored him and focused all its attention at Timotheus with sudden ferocity. Tim felt the knife puncture his armor on the right side at the waist, and he teetered, allowing the monster to reach up and bite him on the cheek. Timotheus’ muscles grew rigid and he fell over, unmoving.
As if the sight of Timotheus’ sudden paralysis and fall was what did it, Victoria suddenly felt a wave of nausea come over her and weaken her some. She had been resisting the stench for some time, but her lungs still burning from the acid begged for deeper breaths, and she could resist no longer. Her stomach spasmed and soon she was bent over retching and snorting.
“This is bad…” Markos said, half-heartedly grabbing at the creature, his hand still crackling. He stepped away from the melee. Tymon cried out as he felt the bite of the vile stone blade as well, but Telémahkos continued to bat away the thing’s claws with his rapier.
“Ra! Hear my cries and send this foul creature from our sights!” It was Laarus of Ra, standing and wiping his chin with his sleeve as he called to his god, yellow and green spittle flecking on his upper lip. Ra did not respond. Markos took that moment to step back into the fight and he grimaced with pleasure as he felt his hand wrap around the thing’s shoulder momentarily. There was a great blast of blue light and the rancid smell grew momentarily worse as hair and fleshed burned.
“I am Dalvan! I cannot be defeated! You… I… We… will live forever!” the thing cried, raving. Markos satisfaction did not last long. Once again, he felt the cut of the evil knife, and as he fell, the creature pulled him up to it mouth and bit down deeply. It dropped him, turning to look at Laarus with House Raymer blood smeared around its black cracked lips. Crusta crawled over to drag Markos away. He was not only dying, but also paralyzed.
“Ra! We need your judgment!” Laarus tried again, but again the evil of the tomb resisted the divine presence.
The mad undead necromancer laughed. “I don’t want to die,” Tymon whimpered, still working with Telémahkos to keep the thing occupied.
“Ra! Please!” Again Laarus tried, but all he could do was swallow his disappointment. Bleys had recovered enough to join the fray, swinging Victoria’s morningstar. The thing spun around and ducked in towards the mage, easily absorbing the weight of the man’s dropping arms without taking any damage from the weapon. It pulled away again, grabbing at Bleys as it did and biting him. The watch-mage suffered the added indignity of feeling his stomach roil again even as his limbs stiffened. Bile bubbled out of his open mouth, as he stood there unable to do anything about it or about the battle happening around him.
“Ra! Burn his weapon! Sear it from his grasp!” Laarus called to his god again, this time to heat the metal of the knife’s handle. It did no good.
Dalvan’s laughter was cut short by a deep stab from Telémahkos’ blade. It went for him and Tymon dared to take the opportunity for a heavy downward blow. The creature sidestepped and the manservant felt its claws rip his sides open. He fell over bleeding to death, clutching where the vile stone blade had pierced his side.
“How dare you?!” Victoria roared. “How dare you?!” She charged back into battle and her spear caught the thing as it spun around. Pierced through the stomach it fell backwards as if plopping down to rest. “I… I am Dalvan d’Amberville… I… I cannot die… I will eat your brain… I will live again…” The militant tore the spear from the creature’s gut and thrust it through the thing’s skull with disgusting ‘pop.’
The living corpse lived no longer. The thing’s flesh congealed and crumbled into a fetid jelly that stained the stone beneath it.
(1) Yep, yet another converted 1E Fiend Folio monster! Anyone keeping count?
(2) Every time the caryatid column is struck by a weapon it take an equal amount of damage +1d4 back.
(3) The acid in the room had the following effect: Those in the mild acid take 1d2 hit points of damage every 5 rounds (ignoring hardness). Armor loses 1 damage point every 10 rounds. Once the acid begins to be disturbed, those in the room must make a Fort save (DC 13) every five rounds or become sickened (-2 penalty on all attack rolls, weapon damage rolls, saving throws, skill checks, and ability checks). Once sickened, characters must make a Fort save (DC 13) or lose 1 point of Constitution, and if so one minute later must save again or lose 1d3 points of CON.
(4) This was the magic weapon spell.
(5) This knife does Vile damage (see Book of Vile Darkness)
(6) The sickening power of the ghastly stench stacked with the sickness from the acid room, leading to the nauseated condition if a save was failed.
(7) Tymon suffered a fumble effect: Off Balance. Make Balance check vs. DC 20 or be flat-footed for one round.
This is just a note to say I had to break up the last installment into two posts (something I had to do once before) because of bug on the boards that sometimes decides it does not want to accept posts past a certain length. . . But only sometimes, and this is one of those times.
I just didn't want folks to click on the latest link to see the latest post and see the conclusion of the session, so I have added this note so you can scrolls back up to the beginning, if you do so.
WOW! That was a tough fight. I was quite surprised that the group didn't take a short rest after the statue battle and the acid. It looks like it would have done them quite well.
I'm not sure any of us felt like we would have been able to rest enough to actually get any hit points and/or healing spells back and I don't think we had started using the second wind rules yet. That being said, yes, resting up would have helped.
Great updates there el-remmen. That certainly did seem like one tough fight, waht with the paralysations and the nausea. Great job, and I'm looking forward to more!
Great updates there el-remmen. That certainly did seem like one tough fight, waht with the paralysations and the nausea. Great job, and I'm looking forward to more!
Hey thanks for reading!
I don't remember, did you read "Out of the Frying Pan"? Because damn, there were some tough fights in that game. At the risk of jinxing it (), I will say that this the longest a campaign I have run has lasted without at least one PC death (and usually 2 or 3 by now).
The funny thing is that when I designed that encounter I was worried it was going to be too easy and anti-climactic. . . Glad I didn't make it 2 ghasts, or a ghast and two ghouls like I considered.
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