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!
A wide corridor, composed of polished black granite, stretched away north. A blue stone disc sat on the floor beneath the glowing column of blue light that rose up from it through a hole in the ceiling. To the north, a small, circular opening in the wall opened into a smaller chamber. The eight survivors gathered round the small disc, each having drifted gently down the hole when they took their leap of faith.
“I suppose I owe you an explanation,” Ratbone, in his normal shape, said to Raelak.
The Shoanti quirked an eyebrow expectantly.
“Yes…well…it’s kind of a long story,” the druid stammered. “I’ll try to sum it up. You see, we’re from Korvosa, the land of your ancestors. The queen there has gone insane, and we believe she’s been corrupted by a powerful, ancient, and thoroughly evil artifact. We also believe the Sklar-Quah Sun Shamans know something about this and can possibly tell us a way to destroy it and defeat the queen. The only problem is…,”
“You are tshamek,” Raelak said solemnly.
“Exactly,” Ratbone nodded. “So, Thousand Bones of the Skoan-Quah told us that the Sklar-Quah might accept us if we recreate the legend of Skurak.”
“You are going to be eaten by a giant worm?” Raelak asked, a slight smile on his face. “I thought you were smarter than that, Dog.”
“Me too,” Ratbone muttered. “Anyway, in order for the Sklar-Quah to believe us, assuming we can recreate the legend, we need a Truthspeaker.”
“I think I know the rest,” the Shoanti said. “My tribe, the Lyrune-Quah, won’t exactly give you one of our Truthspeakers unless you prove yourselves to them, so you have come here seeking Tanjah’s found-mark.”
Ratbone nodded again.
“That is my quest as well,” Raelak said. “It is tradition among my tribe that each brave undertake such a pilgrimage in order to prove himself worthy to take his full place in the tribe. I have one question though…why were you travelling apart from your friends?”
“That’s an even longer story,” Ratbone said. “I was born in the Cinderlands under…unfortunate circumstances. I felt a need to visit my birthplace…on my own.”
This time it was Raelak who nodded. “We must each seek our own peace. It seems that, for now, our paths are the same. If it is well, I will walk with you for a time. If I see that you are worthy, perhaps I will even speak on your behalf with my tribe…Dog.”
Ratbone smiled, but just as suddenly, his brow furrowed in confusion, and he turned to Katarina.
“Where’s…Valeris?”
Kat shook her head. “Gone,” she said. “The Red Mantis caught him and Herc off-guard. He fell.”
“Where is his body?” the druid asked tonelessly.
“Above,” Kat said, “on the bridge.”
“I will recover him before we leave,” Ratbone said. “I owe him that much.”
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Beyond the smaller chamber at the end of the wide hall, was a narrow flight of stairs that led to a large, open vault. The walls, ceiling and floor of the chamber had been painted to resemble a starry sky, giving the illusion of walking through space. In places between the stars, were painted small blue butterflies. A ten-foot diameter stone sphere floated near the room’s southern wall. Three short metal rods protruded from the lower hemisphere, radiating outward like the legs of a tripod, only the rods rested on empty air rather than a solid surface. The sphere itself appeared to have been carefully carved with drawings of tiny rivers, mountains, and forests.
Raelak walked reverently over to the globe, his mouth open.
“This…is our world,” he said softly. “It is Golarion…only…not…”
“What do you mean, ‘not,’” O’Reginald said as he came to stand beside the Shoanti.
“Look here,” Raelak replied, pointing towards a large central landmass. “This is where Varisia should be, but it is landlocked, except for that narrow strip of coast to the south. And see? The Inner Sea is missing completely, and what are these islands, and that continent? No such places exist. Strange…,”
“Hmm,” the sorcerer said as he leaned in for a closer look. In doing so, he absently placed his hand on the globe…and promptly vanished!
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O’Reginald felt disembodied. He floated, or at least his mind did, in a vast void, yet the space was not empty. It was full of stars and strange planets. His perspective began to shift, slowly at first, and then more rapidly. World after world flashed past him, each stranger than the one before. The vistas became dizzying, and O’Reginald felt his psyche begin to fragment. Desperately, he tried to focus on something, anything familiar. He pictured his friends where he’d left them, and just as suddenly as the visions had begun, they ended and he was again standing in the strange vault, his hand hovering just above the globe.
“What happened?” Raelak demanded. “Where did you go?”
“I…I don’t know,” O’Reginald said. Then he saw his hand that was still held before him. On the back of it was a light blue tattoo of a butterfly. It had not been there before.
“The Spherewalker’s Mark!” Raelak exclaimed. “You’ve received it! Did you see her? Did you see Desna?”
“I don’t know what I saw,” O’Reginald shook his head. “I just know that I don’t want to see it again.”
“Well I do!” Raelak said, and he reached towards the globe.
“Careful!” the sorcerer warned. “Be sure to picture something familiar to you when you want to return, otherwise…I think maybe you never will.”
Raelak nodded, and touched the sphere. He too vanished, only to reappear moments later, but what felt to him like an eternity. When he did, he too carried the Spherewalker’s Mark. He gazed at it in wonder, and a child-like smile brightened his face. One-by-one, the other companions repeated the ritual, each telling a different tale when they returned, but all carrying the found mark. The left the vault and returned to the shaft of light. Instinctively, they knew that the light would carry them back up as gently as it had brought them down. When they regained the main level, all was quiet. The dark pool was placid with no sign of the deadly tentacles. Valeris’s body, and those of the Red Mantis and the boneslayers lay where they fell. The bodies of the Sklar-Quah thundercallers, however, where gone. Ratbone gently picked up his friend, while Raelak and Ahalak gathered the remains of the boneslayers. In silence, the companions left the Acropolis of the Thrallkeepers.
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When they exited the ruins, the landscape outside had changed. A tower stood where none had stood before. It was carved of some sort of white stone, and bore only a single door. Atop it sat a huge carving of a bleached skull. As the companions watched, the door swung open and Shadowcount Sial stepped out, Asyra just behind him.
“We meet again,” the Kuthite priest said with a bow and a small smile. “I’m relieved to see that you are all alive and well.”
“Not all,” O’Reginald snapped.
“Yes, the duskblade,” Sial nodded. “Pity, but it seems that you’ve bolstered your ranks with one of the natives. They do have their uses, I suppose. Ah, and I see ‘Ratbone’ has rejoined you as well.”
“Who is this?” Ratbone asked the others, his eyes narrowing dangerously.
“An acquaintance of Laori Vas,” Kat explained. “He says that the ‘Brotherhood of Bones’ wants to partner with us. They want to observe us. They say they might have work for us later.”
“No,” Ratbone said simply and definitively.
“Wait…,” Michael began.
“I said…no,” Ratbone repeated, his eyes flat. Michael wisely remained silent.
Kat shrugged.
“You have your answer,” she called to Sial.
The priest nodded. “So be it. I’m sure we haven’t seen the last of each other.”
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With Raelak’s help, finding the Lyrune-Quah proved an easy task. The Shoanti explained that, this time of the year, the clan camped near an ancient ruin called the House of the Moon, or simply the Moon Ruin. As they neared the area, they were intercepted a group of four female Shoanti, each with a large wolf at her side.
“Moon Maidens,” Raelak explained in a low voice, “the protectors of the Lyrune-Quah.”
“Why have you brought tshamek here?” one woman, obviously the leader, demanded of Raelak.
“They all are bearers of the Spherewalker’s Mark, Tekra’Kai,” Raelak explained.
The Moon Maiden’s eyes went wide. “Then our prayers have been answered,” she whispered. “You have been sent by Desna! You must come quickly! The creature has already slain several of my best warriors!”
“What creature?” Raelak asked.
“A red reaver,” Tekra’Kai said. “We discovered that it had taken up residence in the temple when we arrived. As you know, we are responsible for preparing the House before the rest of the tribe arrives. Our shame shall be immeasurable if we cannot fulfill our responsibility.”
Raelak nodded in understanding, then explained the situation to his new-found companions, adding in Common, “It would only serve to improve your case to the Truthspeaker if you were to offer your assistance.”
“Of course we will,” Ratbone spoke for the group.
The matter settled, the Moon Maidens led the company on to the House of the Moon.
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A silvery tower stood atop a low promontory in the foothills. The surrounding stone had been smoothed by ages of wind, but the tower itself remained as stark and crisp as the day its final block was set in place. The structure shimmered with a slightly reflective sheen, as if an almost invisible layer of silver covered it. A thirty-foot-tall opening allowed access to the tower interior at ground level, the curving sides framed by the long peacock tail feathers of an immense butterfly or moth that had been carved into the building’s façade. The creature’s wings furled to the left and right, fanning over two side towers attached to the central spire, which rose to a height of at least one-hundred feet. Above, a silvery sphere capped the tower’s peak, as if the moon itself had fallen out of the sky to become impaled upon the structure’s steeple.
Ahalak did not accompany the tshamek and the Lyrune-Quah brave inside. He had performed his duty in escorting them that far, and had lost three of his brothers on the journey. The boneslayer wished them well as they mounted the wide stairwell of the House of the Moon. The companions moved into a wide, open central chamber. Raelak paused in the entry way and stooped to examine the paving stones. His finger traced faint grooves there.
“Claw marks,” he said as he rose to his feet. “They lead that way.”
The tracks led to another wide stair that gave onto one of the tower roofs, and provided a majestic view of the stars. A wide archway led back into the main tower, where an immense hall could be seen. Its walls had been painted with symbols and imagery sacred to the worship of Desna. A massive starknife was affixed to its high ceiling. Something large crouched in the center of the chamber, something that smelled bestial and growled deep in its throat as it sniffed the air, sensing new prey. It rose to its full height of over ten feet and stalked forward into the moonlight. Its body was thick and hairless, its gray hide flushed with crimson along its arms and legs. Strangely tiny bat-like wings jutted from its shoulder blades while its gangly claws swung down to its ankles. Three separate pairs of crimson eyes hinted at the creature’s crude intellect, but its powerful jaws and razor-sharp talons dismissed any suggestion of docility. Herc was in the lead as the group gathered on the rooftop. He lowered his shield and began jogging forward to meet the reaver. Almost casually, the behemoth swung one tree-sized arm and batted the mercenary aside like a rag doll. It turned back towards the others, coming face-to-face with…Kat. The slight Varisian woman smiled endearingly, then spoke a few musical words. The creature froze in its tracks, paralyzed.
“Thanks,” Herc said, wiping blood from his mouth as he raised his sword and drove it through the base of the monster’s skull.
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When the group returned to the Moon Maiden’s with the bodies of their slain companions and the head of the creature that had taken their lives, the Lyrune-Quah warriors were speechless. They were invited to stay and enjoy the hospitality of the camp until the remainder of the tribe, along with the Truthspeaker, arrived. Raelak found himself on the receiving end of a special form of gratitude from Tekra’Kai, and the archer knew that his path had truly been blessed by Desna…
Within days, the remainder of the Lyrune-Quah reached the House of the Moon, and with them came an elderly Shoanti that Tekra’Kai introduced as Truthspeaker Akram. He was duly impressed when the leader of the Moon Maidens told him of the aid the tshamek who bore the Spherewalker’s Mark had given them. When he learned of their plan to recreate the legend of Skurak, his expression became one of wonder and excitement. He welcomed the chance to journey to the Feeding Grounds of the Quah-Kael and bear witness to such an historic event. He would be prepared to leave by dawn of the next day. A massive celebration was held that evening, and the members of the K.I.A. felt that acceptance by the Shoanti might not be such an impossible task after all.
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Cindermaw was known to hunt the lands in the extreme western portion of the Ash-Blown Lands. As the train of wanderers traversed this desolate landscape, they encountered fewer and fewer signs of other living creatures. What at first seemed like low hills in the distance revealed themselves to be enormous burrows upon closer inspection. Despite these discoveries, it was still hours before the companions caught their first glimpse of the great worm. On the horizon, it breached the earth like an ocean leviathan, rising high into the ash-filled air before crashing into the ground once more. The group halted, tension palpable in the air…and nothing happened. Over the next hour, Cindermaw appeared several more times, each time a little closer, and in a different direction. It was like a great shark circling its prey, toying with them.
When the attack finally came, it was swift, and unexpected, despite their expectations. The ground suddenly trembled beneath their feet like an earthquake, and then Cindermaw breached, not a dozen feet away. The behemoth was truly gargantuan, its mottled skin the red of molten iron, heat radiating from it in oppressive waves. It opened its triple jaws and exhaled a torrential inferno of flame that engulfed all of the puny creatures beneath it. Fortunately, the K.I.A. were not fools, and had not entered the hunting grounds unprepared. Michael had placed protective wards against fire over them all, and the flames passed around them harmlessly.
“Now!” Ratbone shouted.
In order for Akram to tell their tale, the K.I.A. needed for him to survive the experience. Likewise, it was only necessary for one of them to recreate the legend, and so all of those who were going to be extraneous, and needlessly endangered, had planned early on to make good their escape when the moment came. O’Reginald quickly grabbed Akram and Trinia by their arms and spoke a word. In an instant, they were whisked away between dimensions, reappearing a safe distance away, but still close enough so that Akram could bear witness. Raelak and Ahalak took to their feet in the opposite direction, the swift Shoanti rapidly putting distance between themselves and Cindermaw. That left Herc, Ratbone, Kat and Michael. The druid and the mercenary had the obvious roles of baiting the worm, while the priest stayed close in case his healing powers were needed, and the sorceress stood ready in the event that her beguiling magic might turn the tide of battle.
Herc moved in first, slashing quickly at the great worm and then darting away. Cindermaw turned to follow the big warrior, but instead found Ratbone. The druid, in his huge, four-armed, horned, spiked-tail predator form, stood directly in front of the beast, roaring and howling a furious challenged. Cindermaw took the bait. The worm struck like a cobra, and seized Ratbone in its jaws. The druid went limp and allowed himself to be hauled into the air. Herc rushed in again, delivering a series of vicious strikes. For a moment, Cindermaw loosened its grip on Ratbone, turning back towards the creature that harried its flanks.
“Pull back!” Ratbone growled.
He feared the worm would not try to swallow him, but would instead content itself with tearing him and his companions apart with its teeth. As Herc withdrew again, Cindermaw’s barbed tail whipped out of the sand and stabbed him behind the knee. As the burning poison exploded into his body, Herc stumbled, but quickly regained his feet and lurched towards Kat and Michael. Cindermaw roared, extending its neck and swallowing Ratbone whole in a single gulp. For several seconds, silence reigned. Then, Cindermaw bellowed again, but this time it was in agony as a hole was ripped through its gizzard by the razor-sharp claws and teeth of Ratbone. As the druid dropped heavily to the ground, covered in gore and slime, the hole he’d left behind closed quickly by muscular contraction. Ratbone rolled to his feet and began to run, but before he could go more than a dozen feet, Cindermaw seized him again, and bones crunched as the worm decided to simply crush the life out of its prey.
At that moment, O’Reginald suddenly reappeared.
“Time to go, ladies and gentlemen!” the sorcerer announced. His fingers moving in a blur, he wove a quick spell which whisked Herc and Ratbone several dozen feet away. Ratbone reappeared and hit the ground running. As Cindermaw hesitated in momentary confusion, Michael began to run as well, and Katarina simply faded away as she willed herself into the safety of the Ethereal plane. Seeing all of its prey escaping, Cindermaw howled in fury and lunged after them. The nearest and slowest target was, unfortunately, Herc. The worm grabbed the mercenary by the leg and flipped him into the air, catching him in its mouth and allowing him to slide right down its throat. O’Reginald cursed roundly and prepared to loose his most powerful evocations, knowing that to slay the beast would minimize their accomplishment, for what would be legendary about escaping a creature that could be felled so easily? Abruptly, however, Cindermaw’s gizzard exploded a second time as Herc’s spiked shield smashed through sinew and flesh. No sooner was the warrior free than O’Reginald rushed to his side and then whisked them both quickly away. Cindermaw was left hungry, angry, wounded, but with its legend still intact. The K.I.A., on the other hand, had reproduced the rebirth of Skurak not once, but twice. Akram was grinning ear-to-ear when the companions finally regrouped.
__________________ "Solve a man's problems with violence, help him for a day. TEACH a man to solve his problems with violence, help him for a lifetime!"
Nice! Fire-breathing sandworms - awesome! Herc one-shotting the red reaver - badass!
And there's nothing like some old-school muscular action closing the hole to make a game session enjoyable!
Three out of three, JD. Thanks for another enjoyable read!
__________________ D&D, frankly, is the most fun when you get your ass handed to you but you still manage to find away to come out on top of the pile of corpses, looking like a typical Conan novel cover. - joachim
Akram advised the tshamek and Raelak that, if they truly intended to seek out the Sklar-Quah, they should start with one of the tribe’s oldest encampments, a place called Flameford. He explained that the clan there was steeped in Sklar-Quah tradition, and thus much more likely to honor and respect what the outsiders had accomplished. The Truthspeaker being what he was, the companions took his advice as a matter of course.
The journey was arduous, yet uneventful, and not long after Akram told them that they had crossed into Sklar-Quah lands, the company was intercepted by a contingent of burn riders, Shoanti braves who had trained their mounts to survive and not balk under even the most extreme of environments…the wildfires of the Cinderlands. Akram quickly stepped forward and identified himself. With Trinia and Raelak translating for the K.I.A., Akram explained to the Sklar-Quah that those he escorted sought to divest themselves of their tshamek status. At that, the burn riders hooted with laughter, but when Akram then told them that the tshamek had succeeded in recreating the Legend of Skurak not once, but twice, they grew serious. They swiftly agreed to escort the Truthspeaker and his charges to Flameford.
Flameford occupied an extremely defensible position nestled in the middle of a field of razor-sharp slashrock at the edge of a high cliff. The campsite consisted of some seventeen yurts, two larger tents, and a stable for the tribe’s horses. The burn riders threaded a convoluted path through the slashrock, following no trail that the companions could discern. By the time they had reached the huge bonfire at the center of the camp, the entire camp had gathered to watch them. Prominent among the Shoanti was none-other than the towering form of Krojun Eats-What-He-Kills.
“What is it with this guy?” O’Reginald exclaimed. “Can he just teleport anywhere we happen to be?”
“This is his home tribe,” Akram explained. “His uncle, Ready-Klar, is chief.”
“Wonderful,” the sorcerer groaned. “We don’t stand a chance.”
When they reached the bonfire, Akram bowed low before it. Then, to the confusion of the companions, he began addressing the flames. He started by formally requesting that the Sklar-Quah accept those he presented with full entitlement to walk the Cinderlands. He then launched into a long, meandering story of the never-ending relationship between the sun and the moon that Raelak explained was called the Ritual of the Cycles. When this was complete, Akram boldly announced that he was a Truthspeaker and demanded that any who challenged his standing should speak. A lengthy period of uncomfortable silence hung in the air. Katarina’s eyes cut to Krojun, and she could tell that the big warrior was thinking long and hard as to whether to have his say or not. Ultimately, he remained silent, and then, surprisingly, the bonfire flared once. Akram seemed to take this as some sort of approval, and then launched into a tale of the recent deeds of the K.I.A., tying them to the legend of Skurak, including the details of not only Ratbone, but Herc as well cutting his way free of Cindermaw’s gullet. At that, Krojun and a few others laughed out loud in disbelief, but when the fire flared again, they went quickly silent. Suddenly, the fire died completely and a burly, elderly Shoanti man stepped from it…the Sun Shaman. Silently, he turned and entered one of the larger tents. Across the clearing, Krojun crossed his arms and stared menacingly at Herc.
“What now?” Ratbone asked the Truthspeaker quietly.
“Now, we wait,” Akram answered. “The Sun Shaman will confer with the chief to discuss the implications of what you seek. I must tell you, however, that if he rejects your petition and decides that you are still tshamek, then we, myself included, will be disemboweled for trespassing on Sklar-Quah land…”
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An hour passed before the Sun Shaman reemerged. His words were curt and to-the-point.
“Step forward, outsiders, and speak your name before the tribe.”
Obediently, each of the companions did, including, to the surprise of all, Raelak. The Sun Shaman repeated their names as they spoke.
“Henceforth,” he intoned when the recitation was complete, “you are tshamek no more.”
Akram breathed an audible sigh of relief, while at the same time many of the Shoanti, Krojun included, visibly struggled to contain their fury, yet none openly dared to reject the Sun Shaman’s proclamation.
The gathering began to break up, and Chief Ready-Klar designated one of the yurts that the companions might use as their own.
“Wait,” Ratbone said, as he turned to Akram, “what of our request to join the tribe? What of the information we seek?”
The Truthspeaker merely shrugged. Frustrated, Ratbone started after the Sun Shaman. He recognized that the Shoanti and he shared a common bond…they were both druids. In the ancient language of the sect, he called to the older man.
“Sun Shaman,” he said, bowing in respect, “what can you tell us of Midnight’s Teeth?”
Slowly, the Sun Shaman turned and regarded the half-orc.
“Nothing,” he answered in the druid tongue. “You are no longer tshamek, but neither are you Sklar-Quah, and the deep history of our tribe is not for others to know.”
“Then how may we become Sklar-Quah?” Ratbone asked, drawing himself up.
The Sun Shaman quirked his mouth in amusement. Patiently, he replied.
“If this is truly your wish, then you must undertake the Trial of the Totem. If you succeed, then you will be acknowledged as honorary members of the Sklar-Quah.”
“What must we do?” Ratbone asked.
“Meet me at dawn,” the Sun Shaman replied, then he turned to the rest of the tribe and spoke to them in Shoanti. “The former tshamek have asked for the Trial of the Totem! Their request shall be granted at dawn!”
Krojun could take no more. He shouted in protest, and then stormed off with several burn riders. Akram chuckled and shook his head.
“You people truly know how to make an impression,” he said. “ I wish you luck in your endeavors. My tribe’s traditions preclude me from sharing a sunrise with the Sklar-Quah, and so I shall depart before dawn. Ahalak has graciously volunteered to accompany me. Allow me to give you one final piece of advice before I go: Krojun is an important member of this tribe. Anything you can do to win his respect can only help you.”
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Early the following morning, about an hour before dawn, the companions were awakened by the Sun Shaman. Then, along with a trio of thundercallers, he escorted them out through the slashrock in silence, and took them east across the Cinderlands on a twenty-minute trek to a small mesa. A single ledge wound up to the westernmost flat-topped area of the mesa, a plateau that sat about thirty feet above the surrounding plain. A second ledge led up higher to another plateau, about ten feet higher in elevation. In a square stone pod at the base of the mesa were several fired-clay pylons decorated with numerous Shoanti sigils.
“This is Bolt Rock,” the Sun Shaman intoned, “a place of spiritual significance to my people. These,” he indicated the pylons, “are sun totems. Throughout the trial, each of you will be represented by a totem. Each of you shall select your own totem and then, as a group, you must carry the totems to the first plateau, where you must then balance them in the depressions you find there. Each of you must keep your totem upright until dawn tomorrow. At that point, you must move all of the totems to the highest plateau and keep them upright once more for an additional day. When the sun rises on the second day, any totem still standing shall grant its bearer the status of Sklar-Quah. You must provide your own food and water, or do without. You may use magic, or any other means at your disposal to aid you in keeping the totems upright, as long as they are not changed or damaged, nor the structure of Bolt Rock itself.”
With that explanation, the Sun Shaman transformed into a large raven and took wing back towards Flameford.
The next several minutes were spent with most of the group arguing about the best way to move each of the several-hundred pound totems up to the first plateau. Ratbone ended the debate when he transformed into his burly, ape-like form and shouldered two of the totems simultaneously. He carried them effortlessly up the trail, and then returned for the rest. Once all the totems were moved, the stronger members of the group assisted the others in raising their pylons and settling them into shallow depressions hollowed out in the stone. So balanced, the seven companions began the endurance challenge…
The sun in the Cinderlands was warm from the time it rose. Barely an hour after dawn, it was already roasting. The group had not thought to bring food, but Michael was able to use his magic to create water periodically and passed it round to the others. Still, the heat, wind and general lassitude took its toll. At one point, Kat’s sweat soaked hands lost their grip and her totem began to tilt precariously. Ratbone, still in his predator form, reached out one massive paw to catch it and set it right again until the beguiler could regain her grip. The day passed, and then came the chill of night. Once the sun was down, the totems began to shine with a phosphorescent glow, adding an eerie quality to the quiet, wind-blown dark. By dawn the next day, exhaustion threatened to overwhelm them all. Once more, Michael stepped in, weaving his prayers to remove their fatigue and rejuvenate them for the remainder of the trial. As the sun rose, Ratbone again moved the totems to the higher plateau, and the companions settled in for another day of slow torture.
At midday, as the sun overhead raised the temperature of the mesa to something approximating that of an active volcano, a silhouette appeared at the edge of the plateau, rippling out of the heat waves like a mirage. As it drew nearer, it gained definition until it was obvious that it was a man…a big man. Krojun stopped in the midst of the open flat, then folded his arms and stared silently at the struggling companions. Ratbone cut his eyes at O’Reginald, daring the sorcerer to speak. Akram had told them to seek the warleader’s respect, and the druid was determined not to pick a fight. After several minutes of silence, Krojun spoke a few brief words, then turned and left the plateau.
“What did he say?” Ratbone asked Raelak.
The Lyrune-Quah smiled and shook his head.
“He said that you are lucky to have one another as nalharest…brothers and sisters. He actually paid you a compliment!”
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Thirty-six hours had passed atop Bolt Rock, and the sun was setting on the second day. It was then that the company first felt the ground rumble, and saw the dorsal fins break the ground in the distance, like great sharks circling.
“Land sharks,” Raelak moaned.
“Bulettes,” Katarina clarified. “Fierce predators. They’re hunting in a pack. They must have sensed easy prey. They’ll be here any minute!”
“I don’t think they’ll find their prey quite so ‘easy’ this day,” Ratbone muttered. He braced his totem with one hand and uttered the words to a spell, causing two more arms to sprout from his torso.
“Herc,” Raelak called, “can you take my totem? I need to reach my bow.”
“If I’m holding both totems, how can I fight?” the mercenary asked.
“If I am any sort of archer, you won’t have to,” the ranger smiled.
The landsharks erupted from the earth at the base of the mesa, huge, four-legged, armored beasts that looked like horribly mutated armadillos crossed with rhinoceri. Several of them leaped onto the lower plateau, while others began crawling up the sheer walls of the mesa itself. Fortunately, the path to the upper level was too narrow, and the beasts could only come single-file. Ratbone was there to meet them. With three claws free, as well as his fearsome jaws and wicked horns, the druid made quick work of the first creature. While the others raged below, O’Reginald took one hand from his totem and quickly loosed a spell, a dizzying explosion of fire mixed with electricity. Two more of the beasts were incinerated in the blast. Meanwhile, Raelak took careful aim from the edge of the plateau and began raining glowing arrows down upon the monsters climbing up from below. Not a single bulette made it to the top under the deadly barrage. It didn’t take long for the combined efforts of the druid, ranger and sorcerer to repel the assault, and for the last of the brutes to take flight back into the trackless Cinderlands.
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In the pre-dawn hours of the third dawn, the Sun Shaman lead the entire tribe from Flameford up to Bolt Rock. As the sun rose, a chorus of cheers roared across the mesa, welcoming seven new brothers and sisters into the tribe. The Sun Shaman held up his hands for silence, then personally welcomed each of the companions into the Sklar-Quah. He then suggested that the new tribesmembers return to the camp and recover from their ordeal. As the tribe began making its way back to Flameford, the Sun Shaman walked next to Ratbone.
“It is almost time for me to speak with you of the information that you seek about Midnight’s Teeth, and the great evil the Shoanti once guarded long ago, but first I must seek the wisdom of my ancestors. I will travel to the Kallow Mounds this day, and Chief Ready-Klar shall accompany me. Krojun Eats-What-He-Kills shall command the tribe in our absence. We will return by sunset tomorrow. I suggest you rest and enjoy the hospitality of your new family.”
__________________________________________________ _______
O’Reginald, Kat, Michael and Trinia retired to their tent when they returned to the village. Ratbone and Herc, and Raelak, however, sought out Krojun. Throughout the rest of the afternoon, the four warriors discussed the art of war and battle, spiritual matters, culture and the nature of family. By sunset, they were laughing like old friends and sharing a flask of strong Shoanti ale. As the sun sank below the edge of the western cliff, no one saw the shadowy, winged shapes approaching out of the rose-colored glare. In fact, it was not until the stone-hued gargoyles began dropping their passengers, red-armored, insect-masked assassins, into the midst of the village that the screams and cries of danger began.
The sleeping members of the K.I.A. were among the last to become aware of the assault, but it was a rude awakening that finally alerted them. The tent was completely torn asunder as a covey of gargoyles surrounded it and began tearing at the prone prey within. O’Reginald was the first to come to his senses, acting solely on instinct. Rolling from side to side to avoid the blows of the creatures, he spread his fingers and spoke a word. Behind the gargoyles, a mushroom cloud of fire erupted, engulfing at least half-a-dozen of them. As he paused to catch his breath, however, he an equal number soared in for a landing.
Across the camp, Ratbone morphed his body into his deadly, predator form, then took off at a lope towards the tent on the far side. Raelak and Herc ran in his wake, ignoring the dozen or more small skirmishes between Sklar-Quah, Red Mantis and gargoyles going on around them. Meanwhile, Krojun roared a battle-challenge, hefted his earthbreaker and his klar, and waded into the midst of the attack.
The gargoyles, having seen O’Reginald’s power, concentrated their attacks on him. Kat saw that the sorcerer would not last long against those odds. Thinking quickly, she wove an enchantment about the creatures, causing their relatively unimaginative minds to momentarily perceive their brethren as sworn enemies. They turned on one-another with the savagery of a pack of wild dogs, but such was their rage, that they attacked anything that moved nearby as well, including Kat and O’Reginald.
Herc was almost to the tent when he saw the three Red Mantis assassins step out of the shadows. One darted towards his outnumbered companions, while two quickly moved to flank him. The mercenary whirled and parried, hammering one of the killers with his shield, all the while trying to keep an eye on the third and to shout out a warning. Suddenly, an arrow of pure light streaked out of nowhere and took the third assassin in the leg, causing him to stumble just as he raised his sword above Katarina. At that point, six-hundred pounds of feral druid came crashing out of the tents. Ratbone seized one of the Red Mantis by the throat and snapped his neck with a casual twist of his wrist. O’Reginald took the opportunity to link hands with Kat, Trinia and Michael and instantly transport all of them out of the midst of the kill-zone, reappearing a dozen feet away. The sorcerer then shaped a cone of white-hot fire to immolate the remaining gargoyles. Ratbone roared and turned towards the other two assassins. He ripped one to pieces in a matter of seconds, while Herc quickly disemboweled the last of them.
At that moment, one of the Sklar-Quah thundercallers came rushing from between the burning yurts, shouting hysterically.
“What’s he saying?” Kat asked, turning to Raelak.
“He says that Krojun’s in trouble,” the ranger said grimly.
As a group, the companions began moving quickly through the encampment. The Sklar-Quah were holding their own against the invaders, but they had already suffered many losses. In the center of the camp, however, Krojun Eats-What-He-Kills stood alone, facing off against a lone attacker. The man was dressed in the clothes of a tshamek tracker, though the gleam of fine mithral could be seen beneath his shirt. His hair hung to his shoulders, lank and gray, and a broad-brimmed, floppy hat shadowed his eyes. A lithe, firepelt cougar crouched at his feet, its hackles raised, and its teeth bared. In his hands he held a strange-looking crossbow, with a box-like cartridge fitted into the top. As the companions stepped into the clearing, the man took aim and fired his weapon. The bolt shrieked like a living thing as it streaked towards Krojun and impaled itself squarely in his chest. The fletchings on the bolt were blood-red.
“The Cinderlander…,” Raelak whispered.
Then, before any of them could react, six Red Mantis assassins stepped from among the yurts and quickly surrounded Krojun. The barbarian roared his defiance, but when the killers struck in unison, swarming over him like the insects they were named for, Krojun went down.
Katarina acted first. She flung her hands out, and a billowing cloud of thick fog enveloped the assassins as they raised their blades to deliver the killing blows. She nodded in satisfaction, knowing that their opponents were trapped, imprisoned inside the solid fog. A moment later, however, her eyes went wide in disbelief as the Cinderlander raised his own hand, and a powerful blast of wind ripped the fog cloud to shreds. Raelak cursed, drew back his bow and released. The arrow of light flew in an eye-blink, burning like sunlight as it sank into the leg of the Cinderlander. A moment later, a sonic blast like a thunder-clap flew from Kat’s palm and struck the man. He reeled backwards for an instant, then deliberately raised his crossbow again.
“You shouldn’t’ve interfered, missy,” he snarled. “Neverfear! Kill!”
At his command, the cougar launched itself across the clearing at Kat, leaping into the air and landing heavily atop her, sinking its fangs deep into her shoulder. At the same time, the Cinderlander fired two more of his screaming bolts at Raelak.
In the confusion, the Red Mantis assassins dispersed, moving like shadows until they were among the remaining companions. A pair of them quickly flanked O’Reginald, slashing at him with their wicked sawtooth sabers.
“Herc!” the sorcerer called, extending a hand towards the mercenary. In a flash of light, both of them vanished, reappearing a moment later, their positions transposed. Herc smiled viciously at the two assassins he’d suddenly appeared between, and then slammed his shield into the face of one of them, snapping the man’s neck. Not a dozen paces away, Ratbone seized two more who tried to pull the same flanking maneuver on him. He smashed their skulls together and dropped both of their limp bodies to the ground.
Raelak hissed in agony as the bolts struck home, burning like fire. Clenching his teeth, he drew and released three times in rapid succession. The Cinderlander spun as the arrows hit, and he stumbled to one knee, yet raw fury filled his eyes as he shouldered his crossbow and fired the last bolt in his cartridge. His aim was true, and the missile took Raelak in the notch below his neck. The ranger gasped for air, and clutched feebly at the wooden shaft, but could not pull it free before he collapsed heavily to his side, his eyes closed, his breath coming in ragged, shallow gasps.
Herc spun his blade in a dazzling display and then gutted the second assassin that faced him, then whirled and crushed the windpipe of a third that rushed towards him with his shield. Ratbone silenced the last in his own, unique way, and then the monstrous druid stalked across the battlefield towards the Cinderlander. The man was still on one knee, fumbling to load a new cartridge into his crossbow.
“I got no quarrel with you,” he said as he looked up at the shaggy behemoth that towered above him. “I only got a debt t’settle with the Shoanti. Stay outta my way, and nobody else has ta get hurt.”
The cartridge clicked home, and he raised the crossbow, but one swipe from Ratbone’s massive paw made sure he’d never fire it again.
Michael rushed to Raelak’s side and knelt next to him. He yanked the bolt free from the ranger’s neck, then passed his hands over the wound. Warm light flowed from the priest into Raelak, and his breathing eased as his eyes fluttered open. Still terribly weak, the Lyrune-Quah warrior lurched to his feet. As he did so, he saw the body of the Cinderlander laying at Ratbone’s feet, and he breathed a sigh of relief. Suddenly, a low growl and a flash of motion drew his attention to his right. He turned just in time to see the firepelt cougar leaping towards him. That was the last thing he saw before everything went black for the second time.
“Listen to me, people of the Sklar-Quah!” A clear, female voice abruptly rang out across the camp. As it did so, the remaining gargoyles and Red Mantis ceased their attacks. All eyes turned towards the source of the voice, a beautiful, pale-skinned woman with long, auburn hair that cascaded below her shoulders and seductively covered one eye. She wore stylized leather armor, and bore a bared sawtooth sword in one hand. Held in the crook of her other arm was a Red Mantis mask.
“I am Cinnabar,” she said, “and you are harboring enemies of the Red Mantis. Give us the tshamek, as they mean nothing to you, and we will cease all hostilities and leave you in peace.”
A perfect silence fell over the village as the woman’s words echoed in the waning sunset.
__________________ "Solve a man's problems with violence, help him for a day. TEACH a man to solve his problems with violence, help him for a lifetime!"
I read the whole update on my phone on holiday and I just wanted to shout "They're not tshamek any more!" It would have got me some serious glares though, it was supposed to be a relaxing holiday.
(No D&D books or magazines within reach, trying to stay sociable for a whole week with our friends, no interweb access... of course I had to sneak to enworld on my phone. Wouldn't you?)
Can't wait to see if the tribe rally around their new siblings - maybe tomorrow? JD? =D
__________________ D&D, frankly, is the most fun when you get your ass handed to you but you still manage to find away to come out on top of the pile of corpses, looking like a typical Conan novel cover. - joachim
Cinnabar’s answer from the Sklar-Quah was given in one word, chanted over and over: “Tshamek! Tshamek! Tshamek!”
Cinnabar’s mouth twisted in hatred.
“Kill them all!” she screamed.
The Red Mantis assassins were in motion before her last word had left her lips. Four of them, as well as Cinnabar herself, somersaulted and vaulted across the intervening distance to hem Herc in on all sides. Though he whirled and parried with a speed that belied his size, one of the assassins drove a blade through his thigh, while Cinnabar slashed viciously across his torso from shoulder to hip.
Meanwhile, three more of the killers closed to Kat, who still lay on her back where the firepelt cougar had left her. She threw magic in the face of the closest, causing him to hesitate momentarily before striking, but the other two had no such qualms, and they began hacking and slashing viciously.
Herc staggered, but did not fall, turning on Cinnabar instead. His arms seemed to blur as he struck. Twice his sword grazed her, but her grace and agility allowed her to avoid the brunt of the blows, but as she spun a final time, Herc’s shield connected solidly with her jaw, shattering it audibly. She reeled, her eyes momentarily glazed over, but as she shook her head to clear it and wiped the blood from her mouth, she smiled. An instant later, however, her eyes went wide and her mouth fell open in a soundless scream as a great horn ripped through her chest from behind and she was lifted bodily into the air. Ratbone then tossed his head almost casually, and sent her limp corpse tumbling across the ground. Then, before the other assassins could fully grasp what had happened, the feral druid ripped two of them to shreds.
Michael’s path was clear, both literally and figuratively. He dodged the surging melee and rushed to Raelak’s side. When the Cinderlander’s cougar turned and snarled at him, the priest promptly ran it through with his sword. He then turned his attention back to Raelak and Krojun, and let his power flow into them.
Kat concentrated on blocking out the pain from the numerous cuts and nicks, and cast another spell, transporting herself out of the death trap to reappear several yards away. While the assassins turned this way and that, searching for her, Ratbone and Herc closed on them. It was over before they knew what hit them.
__________________________________________________ ______
Dawn the following day was not the usual time of celebration for the Sklar-Quah. Instead, it was a time of mourning as the Shoanti gathered their dead and erected funeral pyres. When the Sun Shaman and Chief Ready-Klar returned from the Kallow Mounds, it was that scene which greeted them. The leaders listened in silence as the people told the tale of the attack. Krojun was especially vocal, but he did not lay blame upon the newest members of the tribe. Instead, he praised their valor and the risks they took in protecting the other members of the tribe. Once the story was told, the Sun Shaman stood before his tribe.
“You honor our fallen,” he said. “Their spirits look down upon us and smile. Do not grieve in their absence. Instead, celebrate, for word of the deeds done here in recent days shall spread quickly throughout the Cinderlands. Others will realize, as we have, that even tshamek can become heroes of our people, and the idea of waging war against them will become as ridiculous as waging war against your own family. Let us honor our dead, as our rituals have taught us, but let us also honor them by our future actions.”
As the Shoanti went about the work of laying their dead to rest, the Sun Shaman told the companions to accompany him to his tent. Once there, he seated himself cross-legged on the floor and indicated that they should be seated as well.
“I am now ready to give to you the knowledge that you seek,” he began without preamble. “Hundreds of years ago, one of my ancestors was called to join a righteous cause. A man named Mandraivus, a hero from a distant nation, was gathering a small group of warriors to aid in a fight against a despotic dragon named Kazavon, and my ancestor joined this crusade. He was gone for months, and when he finally returned he was not the same…his hands shook, his eyes carried a haunted stare, and he cried out in fear at night. He spoke little of what he saw while serving Mandraivus, but did say that they were successful in defeating Kazavon, and the fortress of Scarwall had come under Mandraivus’s control. He was convinced it would remain impotent as long as the hero managed to maintain a hold on it.”
“While Kazavon had been defeated, however, his will to live was so immense that even the remains of his body twitched. The cabal had attempted to destroy the remains, but many fragments of the dragon’s skeleton resisted even their most destructive spells. Mandraivus tasked seven of his surviving followers, which my ancestor counted himself among, each with claiming one of the bony relics of Kazavon’s body and ordered them taken from Scarwall. None of the seven would communicate where they were going to the others or to Mandraivus, and they were to ensure that their chosen relics would remain hidden and guarded for all time in order to prevent the dragon from returning to life.”
“My ancestor told this story to his fellow shamans, and revealed that his chosen relic was the dragon’s fangs. The Shoanti began calling them the Midnight Fangs, and they chose the ancient pyramid on the shores of Conqueror’s Bay as their reliquary. After hiding the fangs in a secret room deep inside the pyramid, they took to the task of ensuring that the fangs remained safe. For generations, they maintained their task…until Cheliax invaded and slaughtered my people. Those few who survived and knew the secret of the fangs were forced to flee with their kin into the Cinderlands. For the next three centuries the knowledge was passed from Sun Shaman to Sun Shaman, and they watched with fearful eyes as the city of Korvosa grew around their ancient reliquary.”
“That Korvosa’s queen has discovered the Midnight Fangs and somehow tapped into their latent power troubles me greatly, for I know something of their abilities. During the time they were guarded, Shoanti shamans studied them and communed with the spirit world about them. They discovered that a fragment of Kazavon’s soul remained lodged within the fangs. While this fragment alone wasn’t’ enough to work ill upon the world, it could certainly invade the dreams of those who touched them. The Sun Shamans were stubborn and willful, more than a match for the fangs’ temptations and promises, but a weaker mind, say that of a pretty, young queen, would have no such defense. “
“The fragments of Kazavon’s soul are like a plant…once they find suitable soil in which to grow, they can bloom into a mighty tree. This seems to be the case with Ileosa…her own cruelty and strength have been enhanced greatly by the fangs. Worse, she now possesses two souls…her own, and one grown from the fragment of Kazavon’s. Two souls in one body would grant her incredible power over her own mortality.”
“Now,” he leaned forward intently, “I suggest that you take part in an ancient Shoanti ritual known as the Blessing of the Ancestors. We use it only in times of great change. It calls upon a soul from the spirit world to seek guidance and advice on how to proceed. Is there a particular spirit or ancestor with whom any of you have a strong link? The stronger the link, the more exacting the advice granted becomes.”
Immediately the group began discussing the options, with several suggesting family members or close friends. Only one of the companions remained silent…Katarina. At the Sun Shaman’s first suggestion, something began nagging at the back of the beguiler’s mind. Then, as the discussions and suggestions continued, it hit her, and she knew with certainty who their link should be.
“Zellara,” she said.
The tent became hushed as everyone turned to look at her.
“She brought us together originally,” Kat said. “I still carry her harrow deck, a piece of her almost. She’s been our spiritual guide all along.”
The others nodded in agreement.
“It is decided , then,” the Sun Shaman nodded.
__________________________________________________ _____
The ritual took place atop Bolt Rock. Though it was only the companions who sat with the Sun Shaman around a small campfire, the entire village of Flameford gathered atop the mesa to observe the proceedings. The Sun Shaman began by recounting the legends of the tribe and the heroics and wisdom of the ancestors in a sing-song voice, shifting after some ten minutes or so into wordless droning and rhythmic chanting. This went on for another two hours, at which point he slumped and a ghostly figure began to appear in the smoke of the fire. It was obviously Zellara. As she saw the group gathered, she smiled in recognition.
“Katarina,” she said, “Ratbone, O’Reginald, and Herc. You’ve been joined by new friends, Michael and Raelak.”
Trinia’s face fell when she realized that the spirit had not called her name.
“I know why you have called me. The path you must take is clear to me. You must journey to Kazavon’s former stronghold, and claim the blade that laid him low. I have words for you about your goal,” Zellara continued, “but first I would like to perform a Harrowing for you.”
Katarina pulled the gypsy’s harrow deck from her pouch and passed it to her. Zellara’s eyes glazed over as she began laying down the cards, leaving them hovering in mid-air. By and large, the Harrowing was typical for such things…ephemeral and vague, but at several points, Zellara pointed out specific cards.
“The Eclipse,” she said to O’Reginald. “In this position, it speaks of the present. It represents the Brotherhood of Bones and their presence in this region.”
She then turned to Raelak. “The Tyrant,” she said. “It represents Kazavon and his current influence over Ileosa. Also, I see the Eclipse for you as well, but this time in the future. It portends that many undead await you within the walls of Scarwall.”
Raelak smiled grimly. Undead were anathema to his tribe, the Lyrune-Quah, and he relished the chance to destroy as many as possible.
“Katarina,” Zellara said to the beguiler last, “my daughter. For you I have pulled the Keep. It is your future. It is Scarwall, where your destiny lies.”
Then, once more, she addressed them all.
“The cards tell me many things. The Past shows us Kazavon’s tyrannical rule over Belkzen, and his subsequent defeat by Mandraivus and his allies. The Present speaks of Queen Ileosa’s great power, and that confronting her without the sword of Mandraivus, Serithtial, would be a fool’s errand. Finally, the Future foreshadows the great evils you will encounter within Scarwall. Your wisdom will guide you. Gird yourselves against the undead and the touch of death. Also, beware that the so-called Brotherhood of Bones could be an important, perhaps even critical ally in the immediate future, but at the same time, you should be careful about how much you trust them.”
Zellara paused for a moment, then, unexpectedly, began singing.
“Fate of steel…Serithtial
Her cage for years sustained
Four enthralled in lost Scarwall;
Undead to keep her chained.
A spirit first, red war his thirst
Still stands at post of old;
A second foe, infernal soul
Waits high in tower cold.
In kennel’s grime, third bides his time
Then vents his killing breath.
And on a stone ‘mid ash and bone,
The final dreams of death.
The spirits worn and battletorn
And locked in their damnation,
The chained one’s hold at last grows old
And ushers in salvation.
Yet hope remains amid the chains
When blade’s stone cage has crumbled,
Friends to dread and the death of the dead,
Keys to Kazavon humbled.”
As she finished her song, Zellara smiled again, but it seemed somewhat sad or bittersweet. Suddenly, each of the companions felt a powerful upsurge in their souls as the spirits of the dead infused them with strength and energy. They knew that the souls of their ancestors would aid and watch over them in the dark days to come. The Shoanti stood amazed as the ritual ended and Zellara faded into darkness. Finally, Chief Ready-Klar broke the awestruck silence.
“Truly these Friends of the Sun are blessed by the ancestors,” he said. “They walk with the spirits and bear their mark. They honor us with their presence and friendship. As they go forth to battle the evil that has plagued these lands of ash for many-score generations, they go with the power of the Sklar-Quah. They shall go forth with the power of Father Sun in their hands.”
__________________________________________________ _
“I’m not going with you,” Trinia said as she watched her friends pack up their gear.
“What??” Ratbone asked as he stood and turned towards her.
“Your spirit guide,” she said, “she didn’t mention me, but that’s not the only reason. There’s nothing I’d rather see more than for Ileosa to be brought to justice, but these things are beyond me. I’m a simple girl…an artist. I’m not used to all this, and now…well, I’ve been studying the history of the Shoanti, and it’s so rich! For the first time in a long time, I feel like I’m…home.”
“I can understand the desire for home,” the druid nodded. “You will be missed. If we come through this, we will meet again.”
“I look forward to that,” Trinia smiled. “I’ll paint your victory portrait!”
The six companions said their goodbyes to their tribemates…their new friends and family. Then, they gathered around O’Reginald. The sorcerer spoke a few arcane words and the group was engulfed in shadows. When the darkness faded, the K.I.A. was gone…
__________________________________________________ _______
The ancient fortress of Scarwall lay far to the north of the Cinderlands, in the orc infested Hold of Belkzen. The companions knew generally where it lay, but they also knew the trip would be arduous and dangerous, and they did not have time to waste. So it was that O’Reginald came up with the answer. He transported them to the Plane of Shadow, a dimension parallel to reality that was a monochromatic, darkness infused mirror image. It had its own share of dangers, but travel across it took a fraction of the time it would have taken in the real world. So rather than days, it took only hours for the party to reach the eastern tip of the Kodar Mountains, only a few miles from Scarwall itself. However, the structure they saw before them when they stepped from the shadow realm was not the ancient castle, but instead the bone tower of Shadowcount Sial.
They approached the tower cautiously and once again, as if they were expected, the door at its base opened. This time, however, it was not just Sial and Asyra that came out, but also Laori Vaus.
“Well, well,” Sial said, “here we are again. It seems fate has destined that our roads should join together regardless of our desires. Our offer to you remains the same…a truce.”
Ratbone started to voice his refusal again, but then Kat’s telepathic voice spoke into his mind…into all of their minds.
‘Remember what Zellara told us,’ she said. ‘The Brotherhood of Bones may prove to be valuable allies for us.’
‘Or traitors,’ Ratbone reminded.
‘We must let fate decide,’ Kat replied. ‘We cannot afford to reject aid freely offered at this juncture.’
Aloud, Ratbone sighed. “What is it that you propose?” he asked.
It was Laori who answered, to the visible consternation of Sial.
“Our goals are not so dissimilar,” she said smiling. “Our organization is very interested in Kazavon and his relics, but Ileosa doesn’t really fit into our plans. We would see her destroyed so that we might recover the teeth from the so-called Crown of Fangs. We suggest that, for now, we all work together, or at least not directly against each other while navigating the dangers of Scarwall, so that we might increase the likelihood that one of our two groups will succeed in obtaining the sword. Serithtial, being what it is, cannot be wielded by us, but you, not being followers of Zon-Kuthon, cannot freely access all of Scarwall. So you see? We need each other until the sword if freed. After that, we can then determine what our next step should be.”
Ratbone remained silent for a time, then he nodded once.
“Come then,” he said, “but we make you no promises, only that we will not draw blood against you unless you first betray our trust, or until our goals come into direct conflict.”
Laori shrugged and smiled more broadly.
“What more could we ask?”
__________________________________________________ ______
The castle sat atop a small island in a crater lake in the caldera of a dormant volcano. The surrounding hills were desolate, with little more than a few isolated scrub trees and lichens growing here and there. The keep was an imposing collection of towers and fortifications. Clouds of dark carrion birds perched upon its pinnacles and rode the winds above its towers. A single span connected the castle to a small peninsula on the lake’s southern edge, where a crumbling gatehouse still stood. The barbican consisted of a moldering curtain wall that flanked the remains of two towers, the western one of which had collapsed. The other, though battered, still stood and supported a ramshackle lean-to built against it.
As the company approached the edge of the peninsula, Ratbone, once more in his feral form, halted. He raised his muzzle to the sky, scenting the air. He closed his eyes and concentrated, sending his thoughts to Kat.
‘Orcs,’ he said. ‘I can smell their stink, and there are several on the upper two parapets of the tower. They must be squatters.’
No sooner had he communicated his observations than a volley of arrows went up from the top of the tower, as well as from behind arrow slits in the ground level. The projectiles fell among them, and the eight of them scattered in all directions. Kat began casting, cloaking the middle level of the tower in an impenetrable cloud of fog. Two orcs remained visible on the rooftop, however, and arrows continued to erupt from the ground floor arrow slits.
Raelak knelt and drew his bow in one smooth motion, sending three arrows towards the tower in the blink of an eye. All three struck one of the orcs atop the roof, who roared in pain and dropped below the cover of the parapet. Herc and Ratbone, meanwhile, were in motion as well, running full out for the tower. Herc reached the walls first, slung his shield behind him, grabbed the rough handholds on the crumbling brick and began scaling it into the fog cloud above. Ratbone paused in front of the arrow slits, reached one massive paw inside, and felt something snap in his grasp. When he pulled his hand back out, he held an open-mouthed disembodied orc head.
When Herc reached the battlement, he found it abandoned. No orcs stood within the mist. He began hurrying along the parapet towards the tower entrance. Suddenly, a pair of hooked chains arced over the edge of the platform, and a moment later Asyra hauled herself over. She locked her crimson eyes on the mercenary and simply nodded, then ran along beside him. When they rounded a corner, they found the tower door open, but in the room beyond, nine heavily armed and armored orcs waited.
Down below, Ratbone reached through the slits again and disemboweled another pair of orcs. When he withdrew his bloody hands that time, no more arrows came after him. Suddenly, something hit the ground heavily behind him. He turned and saw an orc corpse riddled with Raelak’s arrows. He grunted in satisfaction as the remainder of the company ran past him and through the ground floor doors.
The nearest orc swung a massive axe at Herc, who managed to deflect the brunt of the blow, but still felt his arm jarred all the way to his jaw. He prepared to counter, but then a bellowing roar sounded from the back of the room. The orcs parted, revealing a truly massive specimen behind them. His muscles bulged as he gripped his greatsword in both hands, and his red eyes burned behind the bleached skull tattoo on his face. He roared again and then rushed forward. Herc tried to brace himself, but when the hulking brute struck, the mercenary screamed as the orc’s blade severed a tendon in one of his biceps. Snarling and channeling his pain, Herc struck back, delivering a flurry of vicious blows. The orc chieftain didn’t even try to avoid them. He simply absorbed them, and howled at the sky, blood flowing freely from his wounds.
Laori and Michael quickly climbed a ladder they found in the lean-to, and emerged atop the parapet behind Herc and Asyra. At that moment, the orcs in the room boiled out onto the battlement. The priestess of Zon-Kuthon laughed in delight as she whirled her spiked chain around her like a dervish. Asyra joined her, and orcs fell like cordwood before them. Michael could only marvel in horror and wonder at their display. Meanwhile, Herc stood toe-to-toe with the orc leader, and eventually, attrition took its toll. The brute could only ignore the mercenary’s withering assault for so long, though he continued to fight even as he was collapsing to the floor, stopping only when Herc brought the edge of his shield down on the barbarian’s neck.
__________________ "Solve a man's problems with violence, help him for a day. TEACH a man to solve his problems with violence, help him for a lifetime!"
A high bridge crossed the vast expanse of black water between the barbican gate and the entrance to Castle Scarwall. The bridge was ornate and in excellent condition, with only a few tenacious patches of moss and lichen clinging to it here and there. High arching columns reached from the water below to support the broad span, each of which was marked by a pair of sinister gargoyles that stared out over the dark lake. A larger pair of statues flanked a great archway that encompassed the near end of the bridge.
The company started across the causeway, but as soon as Katarina stepped onto it, a strong wind began whipping along the bridge where before the air had been calm and still. Within moments, the wind had grown into a gale. As the companions shielded their eyes from the blowing grit, they began to see vague shapes materializing around them…faces and humanoid forms. Suddenly, a scream came from Kat, but when the others turned towards her, they saw that it was not the beguiler screaming, but Zellara. The spirit of the Varisian woman had manifested, and the figures in the wind were assaulting her from all sides. She fought to hold them at bay, but it was obvious that she would be overwhelmed quickly. Kat scrambled to fish the harrow deck out of her pouch and focused all of her will on it, trying to call Zellara’s soul back to it. It was no use. Zellara screamed again as the shrieking souls tore her away and vanished into the wall of the castle. The wind died just as suddenly as it had begun, and silence reigned once more.
As the group struggled to regain their composure and unravel what had just transpired, a loud squealing ripped the air. The portcullis guarding the castle entrance on the far end of the causeway was grinding slowly open. From the darkness of the tunnel beyond emerged a grotesque spectacle. Some two dozen skeletal soldiers clad in plate armor and armed with longswords marched onto the bridge in rigid formation. In their midst rode a lone horseman. He was clad in plate mail as well, and he bore a lance at least twelve feet in length. His mount was horrifying…the bony remnants of horse with shreds of flesh still clinging to it in places. Shining silver barding covered it, and red eyes gleamed from within their dark sockets. When it snorted, smoke and fire erupted from its nostrils. The rider lifted his visor, and a grinning skull peered out. He nodded once, then dipped the lance and urged his mount forward. As he did so, the foot soldiers parted before him.
“Stand back ladies and gentlemen,” O’Reginald smirked as he shook out his sleeves. “I got this!”
The sorcerer went through a flashy show of casting his spell, but when he finally released it, the result was accordingly spectacular. A huge ball of fire erupted in the middle of the span, engulfing the entire horde. When the flames cleared, all that remained of the foot soldiers were piles of charred bones with only four individuals still on their feet. As for the knight, he and his mount appeared unscathed, and he seemed unconcerned with the fate of his troops. Instead, he spurred his steed into a full gallop, lowering his lance and visor as he came. Ratbone quickly shoved O’Reginald behind him and stepped to the fore of the group. He braced himself, confident that his feral form and size could withstand the brunt of any blow. When it came, however, the druid discovered he’d grossly underestimated his foe. The point of the lance completely impaled him, going through his chest and exploding out his back. Had it not been for the fact that his shapeshifting ability allowed him to literally move the position of his vital organs, he would likely have been mortally wounded by the assault. Despite that, the pain was overwhelming and he crumpled to one knee, clutching at the weapon buried inside him. He waited for the coup de grace to come, but to his utter amazement, Asyra stepped to his side, her chains spinning and snapping. She flung them towards the rider’s bony mount, the spikes ripping into the beast, causing it to rear back and away from Ratbone. That was the chance he needed. Suppressing his agony, he surged to his feet and launched himself at the skeletal knight. The rider released the lance and grabbed for his sword, but he was a fraction of a second too slow. The druid tore into him like a force of nature, literally ripping him to pieces. A moment later, a volley of flashing arrows left Raelak’s bow and impaled the nightmare, driving it over the edge of the bridge. By the time the four foot soldiers had closed the remaining distance, Laori and Asyra were ready for them, and the two chain fighters made quick work of the undead fodder.
Michael was at Ratbone’s side as the battle ended. The druid ripped the lance from his body, and as the blood began to flow, the priest pressed his hands over the wound, pouring energy into it. Within seconds, the worst of the injury had mended, and Ratbone was able to stay on his feet.
“Zellara’s not gone,” Kat announced abruptly. She held the harrow deck in her hands, and gazed at the walls of the castle. “I can sense it. She’s in there…somewhere. We have to find her and free her.”
“Then I suggest we don’t tarry here in the open any longer,” Sial said. “We’ve made targets of our ourselves quite enough for one day.”
The others couldn’t argue, and they started across the causeway again, moving more quickly. The front gates of the keep loomed at the end of the bridge, flanked by twin statues of warriors standing at attention. Pale flames rose from the tips of their spears thirty feet above. Torches were set into the entryway tunnel that lead to the main gates themselves, providing illumination. The massive gates were closed, and a lowered iron portcullis further barred unauthorized entrance. As the company closed within sight of the tunnel, however, a barrage of crossbow bolts suddenly erupted from arrow slits above the gates. One of the projectiles pierced Laori in the gut, causing her to double over and stumble to the stones. Two more struck Asyra, but the kyton’s otherworldly physiology allowed the bolts to bounce harmless off of her iron-hard skin.
“Run!” Sial commanded his bodyguard, and the priest began following his own advice, racing towards the tunnel, Asyra hot on his heels.
“Idiots,” O’Reginald scoffed. “There are quicker ways to get there. Gather round me!”
He linked hands with the others, but when he concentrated and willed them across the intervening distance…nothing happened.
“No!” he cursed. “There’s some sort of dimensional lock in effect! I can’t teleport!”
“Then I guess you’d better use what the god’s gave you, hadn’t you?” Raelak asked, slapping the sorcerer on the shoulder as he began running. The others followed, Ratbone dragging Laori in his wake, all of them moving in a serpentine pattern, desperately trying to avoid the deadly rain of missiles.
When the group reached the safety of the tunnel, there was still the matter of the portcullis that stood between them and the main gates. Ratbone gripped the bars and began to lift, the massive iron frame rising achingly slow.
“Watch out!” Kat shouted, but her warning came too late as murder holes opened in the tunnel roof above them and black, viscous oil began pouring in. The oil, however, was not boiling, but was instead bone-numbingly cold. The companions clung to the sides of the passage, trying in vain to avoid the deluge. Finally, Ratbone lifted the gate high enough for them to duck through, and then he followed behind, the portcullis slamming down behind him. Herc already had the gates opened, and the group hurried inside the main keep.
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The scene within the large chamber beyond the doors was stomach-turning. Bodies lay everywhere, orc and human alike. Judging by the sprawled nature of the corpses, they fought brutally before succumbing to their wounds, dying in heaps on the floor. Many corpses were riddled with arrows and crossbow bolts, and a few appeared to have perished while locked in mortal combat, and still clutched at weapons embedded in various parts of each other’s anatomy. A particularly large mound of bodies lay in the northwest corner, a heap of carcasses in a tangle of limbs. Strangely, while the room reeked of death, the bloodstains on the walls and floor seemed incredibly ancient.
Before the companions could do much more than take note of their surroundings, a deep, gurgling voice came from within the mound of corpses.
“Ah, my wayward children,” it said. “You’ve come home to me! Come! Come and let me embrace you!”
Then, to the horror of the onlookers, the entire pile began scuttling forward on dozens of arms and legs.
“What in Desna’s name?” Raelak exclaimed, quickly loosing a shining arrow at the orgy of corpses. Ratbone lunged forward, slashing at the pile with his claws, golden ice forming over the limbs of the bodies in the wake of his assault. At that moment, all of the mouths of the corpses opened at once and emitted a piercing shriek that filled the room. The companions found themselves involuntarily screaming in response, their hands going to their ears as blood poured from ruptured tympanic membranes. Kat began shouting the words of a spell over the cacophony, and loosed a rippling lance of sonic energy into the morass. A moment later, a hail of stones pelted the horror as O’Reginald loosed his own spell, and finally, another volley of force arrows from Raelak’s bow caused the entire pile to collapse.
“I think I’m going to hate this place,” O’Reginald said grimly.
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The only exit from the chamber of horrors seemed to be barred from the far side. Ratbone and Herc brought both of their full strength to bear against it, however, and the large portals burst inward. Beyond was a ruined hallway. Tattered bits of ruined tapestries lined the walls…wispy filaments of rotting cloth that hung limp and forgotten. Ancient bones from scattered skeletons lay on the floor amid bits of broken weaponry and armor. Only one skeleton seemed to remain whole, slumped against the northeastern corner, clad in dust-caked full plate armor. It was Kat and Ratbone who heard it first…the distant sounds of battle. Seconds later, the silence of the ancient, dead castle suddenly shattered. The hall was filled with a cacophony of clashing weapons and battle cries intermingled with the screams of the dead and dying. Individual words were impossible to discern, but as the sounds reached a crescendo of violence, smoky black shapes boiled up out of the bones and swirled into a vortex of angry, shrieking spirits. Kat grabbed her head as the wailing voices of the spirits dug into her mind like daggers. She moaned and collapsed to the floor twitching, her eyes rolled into her head. Sial sneered at her weakness…until Asyra collapsed next to her.
As quickly as it began, the maddening vortex collapsed, but in its place, a towering, smoky form rose from the plate-mail-clad bones. It appeared to be a large, shadowy form clad in armor made from tendrils of dark mist. Two red eyes glowed deep inside its helm. The apparition pointed one dark finger at Herc.
“You shall not have Serithtial,” it said. “She is mine and no other’s!”
The creature then surged forward.
“Help me move her!” Michael cried out to Sial as he knelt by Katarina.
“I think not,” the priest said, “but I shall not impede your efforts.”
“Do not strain yourself,” Laori snapped at her colleague. She raised her hands above her head and a blanket of darkness formed around her, obscuring Kat and Asyra, providing them some measure of concealment from the oncoming shade. Then, Raelak was there, stepping in front of his allies, and drawing the string of his bow to his jaw. In rapid succession, he loosed four golden arrows. The wraith howled as the pure light discorporated its ethereal form.
Michael laid a hand on the chest of Kat and Asyra and began his prayer, heedless of the fact that he was using his holy power to heal a fiend. Within a few moments, both of them opened their eyes and sat up, blinking dazedly. Asyra regained her composure first and reached her feet without a word, as if nothing untoward had happened. Kat took Michael’s offered hand and climbed unsteadily to her feet.
“Thank you, my friend,” she said quietly.
“Look at this!” Herc called from where he knelt beside the armored bones.
The others quickly gathered round and saw that the armor, though ancient, was in exquisite condition and bore elaborate heraldry engraved upon the breastplate.
“It’s the coat of arms of Lastwall,” Michael said wonderingly. “I…I think these may be the remains of Mandraivus!”
__________________________________________________
Several minutes later, as the company prepared to move on, Herc was clad in the armor of Mandraivus. The mercenary felt somehow…drawn to the mail. None of his companions argued when he donned it. After all, the spectre of Mandraivus had spoken to him only.
They next found themselves in the kitchens. Rickety tables, butcher’s blocks, and collapsed shelves cluttered the room. The walls and ceiling were covered in soot, particularly to the west where three huge ovens loomed. Each was completely covered in a layer of char and soot, inside and out, with bits of charred bone and charcoal caked on the iron grills and in the ash pits beneath. Worse, however, were the two outlines burned into the brick of the oven walls…humanoid images splayed in positions of agony and death. Despite the ancient look of the layers of grime, the ovens radiated slight warmth and the faint odor of burning meat, as if they had been used recently. As the group moved closer to investigate, faint tendrils of smoke began to rise from each of the huge ovens. Moments later, a sudden blast of fire welled up inside the ovens, then plumed out into a sheet of flame that filled the entire room. As it burned, shrieking spirits made of fire tore through the chamber, swimming through the bodies Laori and Asyra, and appearing to tear away bits of flesh as they did so. Laori screamed in a combination of agony and ecstasy, while Asyra merely looked bemused. The flames died as suddenly as they had appeared, but then something far more disturbing occurred. The scorched outlines on the wall began to peel away, and then abruptly ignited into swirling, humanoid clouds of burning ash, bone and charred body parts that glowed fiery red from within and reeked of scorched flesh. They roared like a wind-stoked fire as they rushed forward. Asyra stood her ground, her chains gripped tightly in both hands. As the first of the ghouls drew near, she lashed out with blinding speed, her weapons tearing through the beast’s form as if it was rice paper. It evaporated in a puff of brimstone-tainted smoke. Ratbone seized the second one in midair as it leaped, and literally tore the thing in half. For a few moments, silence returned to Scarwall. Then Sial cleared his throat.
“Thrice now Asyra’s life has been endangered protecting you people,” the priest snapped. “No more! We are here for a specific purpose, and that purpose is not to get killed in your defense.”
Ratbone began growling low in his throat.
“Who asked you to?” O’Reginald sneered. “In fact, who asked you to be here at all?”
“Sial,” Laori interrupted, “you forget yourself. We are guests here. Do not forget the greater goal. Need I remind you of our imperative?”
Sial glared at her, but said nothing, his lips as thin as paper. Instead he simply nodded once, sharply.
“I’ll take point with Herc,” Laori said, moving towards the doors.
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The kitchen gave on to what seemed to be a long, wide porter’s hall. Numerous arrow slits along the far wall looked out over the castle courtyard, and a pair of doors looked as if they opened onto it. The burnt stubs of torches hung in iron brackets between the arrow slits, and small puddles of rain had formed beneath them, staining the stone. Opposite those, metal rings had been driven into the stone wall; some had short lengths of chain attached to them. Six large figures stood along the hall, facing the arrow slits. When they turned towards the sound of the opening door, the half-light from the slits threw their features into grotesque relief. They were skeletons, but not human. They were massive, and had the heads of bulls. The gripped great crossbows in their bony hands, and as their hollow eyes sockets fixed on the intruders, they raised the cocked weapons.
Raelak was quicker on the draw. He put four arrows in flight before the nearest minotaur could pull the trigger. The brute crumpled into a pile of inanimate bones. Ratbone pounced on a second one and quickly disassembled it as well. When he turned on a third, however, it had dropped its crossbow and drawn a massive axe. It swung broadly and slashed the druid across his belly. Ratbone snarled deeply, ignoring the wound as he tore the axe from the minotaur, along with its arm. Meanwhile, Michael stepped forward, his holy amulet gripped in his hand. Before he could bring its holy light to bear, however, one of the creatures slashed him viciously with its axe. The amulet slipped from his fingers, and he bent quickly to retrieve it. The minotaur moved in for the kill, but then exploded into a thousand pieces as several of Raelak’s arrows ripped through it. Michael grabbed his amulet and thrust it towards another of the beasts. Light exploded from the holy symbol and immolated the monster in a great column of white fire. The last of the minotaur’s joined its brethren in a final hail of Raelak’s brilliant arrows.
__________________ "Solve a man's problems with violence, help him for a day. TEACH a man to solve his problems with violence, help him for a lifetime!"
Beyond the porters’ hall, a wide courtyard stood at the heart of Castle Scarwall, giving an inside view of the castle’s looming walls and towers. A chill breeze whipped through the yard, carrying a few dry leaves from scraggly scrub bushes that grew fitfully at its edges. A wide, stone-rimmed well stood at the western end, though the stone lip was crumbling and had collapsed in places. To the north, stairs rose to a platform fifteen feet above the courtyard. Atop it, a black double door provided entry into the castle donjon. Double doors to the east stood open, creaking on their hinges, as if left open by someone leaving in a hurry. Bent, rusted, and in some cases partially broken spikes protruded from the walls of the courtyard, and in places, holes in the hard-packed soil hinted at long-missing structures or poles that once stood within.
Cautiously, the companions began making their way across the yard and towards the ancient fountain. It was only a faint scent on the breeze, the smell of attar, which warned Ratbone an instant before the attack came. Large, dark shapes swooped out of the sky from the surrounding rooftops, like living gargoyles, but with four arms and heavily muscled. One of them struck Asyra from behind like a battering ram. When her spine snapped, the sound was like a lightning crack in the still air. As she collapsed, more of the brutes landed among the group, one of them latching onto Ratbone with all four arms and then burying its curved horns in his shoulder, while another battered Michael to the ground next to the still form of Asyra. Ratbone flexed, breaking the gargoyle’s grip, then proceeded to rend the creature limb from limb. Katarina spun as another brute came towards her, flinging her arms out and shouting the words to a spell. The monster froze in its tracks, paralyzed. Raelak stepped casually behind it and fired an arrow into the back of its skull. Meanwhile, Herc and Laori stood shoulder-to-shoulder, sword and chain flashing with deadly precision as another gargoyle fell. Michael lay where he fell, unnoticed in the melee. He rolled towards Asyra and passed his hands over her ruined back, channeling healing energy into the horrible wound. When a shadow moved over him, he turned, expecting to die. Instead, he saw Laori extending her hand towards him. When he took it, he felt power flow out of her and into him, healing his own wounds.
Two of the gargoyles still menaced the group, so it was several moments before anyone noticed the gathering cloud of darkness emerging from the partially open double doors on the far end of the courtyard. When they finally did, the battle came to a complete standstill, with even the gargoyles starring open-mouthed at the miasma. Suddenly, a blast of blackness emerged from the cloud, washing over friend and foe alike in a dark cone. When it dissipated a moment later, one of the gargoyles lay dead on the ground, and next to it Michael lay as well, stricken, barely breathing, his eyes wide and staring. The others stood pale and shaking, a numbing, bone-chilling coldness penetrating all the way to their bones. Ratbone shook off the effects first, snarling and snapping the last gargoyle’s neck while it was still stunned. The others began moving as well. Laori knelt quickly by Michael’s side, working furiously to stabilize the priest. Sial and Asyra, on the other hand, retreated quickly back inside the porter’s hall, closing one of the massive doors behind them. Katarina knew that the darkness was of magical origin, so she wove a wave of dispelling magic through it, causing it to vanish in puff of black smoke. She immediately wished she hadn’t.
Fierce, crimson eyes gleamed from scales the shade of midnight. A terrible, skeletally gaunt draconic visage leered at the end of a powerful, serpentine neck. Its body was black and lithe, so dark that the sheen of its onyx scales made it appear almost indistinct; angular, backward-swept horns, wings that arced like gothic steeples, tight skin, and a thin, whip-like tail accentuated the hissing dragon’s sinister ferocity, giving it the appearance of a starved serpent ready to strike. It hovered in the air some thirty feet above the courtyard, its wings whipping up dirt and grit as they beat downward rhythmically. As the companions stared in horror, the dragon hurled a volley of black light towards Raelak, the bolts striking the Shoanti unerringly. Raelak jolted back several steps, but then almost instinctively, he brought up his bow and let fly with his own barrage. The arrows stuck in the dragon’s scales, flaming against the black hide like burning brands.
Herc and Ratbone moved as one, the mercenary quickly downing a potion from his belt, and then lifting into the air, while the druid shifted into his avian form and followed. As they closed with the dragon, however, it struck out, slashing at Herc with one huge forepaw, while snapping at Ratbone with its powerful jaws. What followed was sheer brutal savagery. Ratbone and Herc circled the wyrm, feinting and striking lightning-quick, while the dragon whirled in the air, like a great cornered cat, ripping with its claws, gnashing and crushing bones with its teeth, buffeting and slapping with its wings and tail. Moments stretched out like hours, and then, for a moment, the combatants paused as if by mutual agreement, all panting and struggling to catch their breath.
“I…yield…,” the dragon hissed at length. “I, Belshallam, give you my word that if you spare my life, warriors, I will tell you of things that you will want to hear. What say you?”
Before either of them could answer, however, a streaking arrow flew past them and buried itself between the dragon’s eyes. The beast looked pole-axed as it tumbled heavily to the courtyard below. As Belshallam died, a soul-chilling moan rose from the depths of Scarwall, and a loud, metallic snap, as if an enormous chain had just given way, echoed through the still air.
“Thanks for all your help,” Ratbone snapped at Sial as the druid landed, and returned to his normal form. “We’ll remember that next time.”
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The spacious west wing of the castle seemed largely given over to guest rooms as well as torture chambers, a statement of the predilections of Kazavon’s reign. Most of these areas were abandoned and looked to have been so for some time. It was only once they had reached the far end, an open antechamber, that they saw signs of habitation. In fact, they thought they even detected the faint strains of orchestral music coming from beyond a set of large, ornate double doors. A vast, grand ballroom lay beyond the doors, constructed in a floral shape with a high, vaulted roof of intricately wrought glass panes that bore a slight rose tint, but nevertheless provided a breathtaking view of the sky above. Clover-shaped pillars supported key portions of the roof above the polished floor of stained cherry, and a wide dais provided room for an orchestra to play or stage performance to occur. A few broken chairs had been pushed into the corners, but otherwise the room was empty.
No sooner had the companions entered the ballroom than the music rose to a crescendo. Dozens of ghostly figures appeared in the middle of the floor, swirling and cavorting, floating through the air as the followed the steps of an ancient, rhythmic dance, seemingly keeping in time with the ebb and flow of life itself. Amid the eerie crowd of dancing specters loomed a dark, cloaked figure wielding a scythe, and ominous wraith with the dreaded countenance of Death itself. The group stared in combined awe and horror at the spectacle…until they saw that Asyra and Raelak had joined the dance!
“Oh no…!” Sial whispered, terror in his voice.
“What?” Kat snapped. “What is it? What’s happening?”
“We cannot win this,” the priest said. “It is the Danse Macabre…the dance of Death itself! We should flee!”
“Flee?” Kat asked, incredulous. “We’re not leaving Raelak. And what of your minion?”
“She is lost!” Sial shouted. “As are you all if you remain here!”
He began backing quickly towards the doors. At the same time, the robed apparition moved forward. Almost quicker than the eye could follow, the scythe flickered, and in the next instant Herc howled as his ear was cleanly lopped off.
“I do not accept this inevitability!” Michael roared.
He held out his symbol of office, and light flared from it like a small star. For an instant, the Danse recoiled, and in that moment, holy power pulsed over Raelak, and the ranger’s mind was freed. He blinked and shook his head, then, as the specter loomed over him once more, he raised his bow. Force arrows hammered into the fiend’s incorporeal body, nailing it to the air as the power of Zellara’s blessing pulsed through the missiles. The Danse began to burn, the dancers shrieking as their master died. In moments, it was over. Silence rained again as Asyra collapsed to the floor.
__________________ "Solve a man's problems with violence, help him for a day. TEACH a man to solve his problems with violence, help him for a lifetime!"
Wow, back from holiday without internet and three amazing JollyDoc updates greet me at the PC.
I see the group has put the blessings of the ancestors into good use. Raelak has chosen the offensive boost - what about the others? I could imagine that most have followed Raelak with maybe only Kat and O’Reginald chosing the defensive bonus.
__________________ This knight posts with safety off
Wow, back from holiday without internet and three amazing JollyDoc updates greet me at the PC.
I see the group has put the blessings of the ancestors into good use. Raelak has chosen the offensive boost - what about the others? I could imagine that most have followed Raelak with maybe only Kat and O’Reginald chosing the defensive bonus.
That's about right. Most of the heavy hitters took the bane feature, while the support staff took the ghost touch defense.
__________________ "Solve a man's problems with violence, help him for a day. TEACH a man to solve his problems with violence, help him for a lifetime!"
Scarwall was proving to be a frustrating, potentially deadly, unsolvable mystery. Some new undead horror threatened the companions at every turn, yet they were no closer to finding Serithtial’s resting place. The castle was massive, and could take days, or weeks to search completely, assuming of course they survived that long. Something had to give.
The group backtracked their trail through the guest wing to the courtyard and the porter’s hall. There, they chose another door they had bypassed on their first trip through. The walls of the dismal room beyond were hung with innumerable bags of netting that held bottles, clay jars, dried plants, desiccated bits of animals and similar things. Tattered, gauzy curtains had been strung throughout, creating a diaphanous kind of maze. The whole was choked with a dank-smelling smoke that seemed to be issuing forth from a pitted iron brazier in the center of the chamber. Incredibly, also suspended within the netting was a halfling woman.
“Help me!” she shouted. “The witch will be back soon!”
“Who are you?” Kat asked suspiciously. “How did you get here?”
“I’m Alimae,” the halfling replied. “I’m an herbalist. I was gathering herbs in the woods near my home when I was snatched by a horrible dragon! It carried me halfway across the world to this nightmare castle, and then handed me over to the witch! She’s been gone for several hours now, but if you hurry and get me loose, I can lead you upstairs to her home. If you’re quick, you can break her crystal ball and weaken her!”
“Hmmm…,” Kat said as she pursed her lips. “Perhaps.”
The beguiler then spoke a spell, and her eyes flashed golden, allowing her sight to pierce illusions and glamers. When she looked up at the halfling, she saw instead a monstrous hag, black-skinned, with curling horns and wickedly sharp teeth and claws.
“Would you care to tell us the truth now?” Kat asked.
The hag cackled as she used one of her long nails to slice her way free of the nets, and dropped heavily to the floor, assuming her true form as she landed.
“My compliments on your astute perception,” she laughed. “How would such clever little people such as yourselves like to help me with a little project?”
Kat’s eyes narrowed and she glanced at her companions.
“Why don’t you start with telling us who and what you really are, and why we shouldn’t just kill you now?”
“I’m Malatrothe,” the hag said, her face growing serious. “I assume that you are here to defeat one, some, or all of the commanders in Scarwall. All I want is to be there when you best one of them.”
“We’re still listening,” Kat said, “…for now.”
“There is a spirit…a force that powers Scarwall,” Malatrothe began. “His name is Mithrodar, and he is a chained spirit. His power derives from four spirit anchors…powerful beings, some living, some not, that he has bound to his will. As long as these anchors exist, he cannot be destroyed. Hundreds, if not thousands of spirits are trapped within Scarwall’s walls because of Mithrodar’s power.”
“Zellara…,” Kat whispered.
Malatrothe continued as if she’d not heard. “Three of Mithrodar’s anchors I know: the dragon Belshallam, which I gather you have already slain; Scarwall’s former military commander, Castothrane; and Nihil, a fiendish woman who dwells in the towers above. I’m not sure about the fourth, but I think it resides within the chapel, inside the donjon.”
“So why do you want to see these anchors destroyed?” Kat asked suspiciously. “What do you get out of it?”
“Power,” Malatrothe shrugged. “Souls carry much value in certain circles. My motives, admittedly, are selfish, but I’m the only one who can show you where to find at least two of the spirit anchors. What say you?”
“I say to the Hells with you!” Raelak snarled.
“Now, now,” Sial said silkily. “We shouldn’t be so hasty. After all, we are here to retrieve the sword. If weakening this chained spirit helps us to accomplish this, what does it matter how that is achieved?”
The debate continued for several minutes, with the company split over whether or not to trust the night hag. In the end, there really was no choice. They had no other leads on finding Scarwall’s secrets.
“We will follow you,” Kat said as she turned back to Malatrothe, “but if you seek to trap or betray us, you will think the Hells are Paradise by the time we’re done with you.”
__________________________________________________ ___________
Malatrothe lead them upstairs to the keep’s second level. As they passed down a long hallway, she paused at a set of intricately carved doors.
“Mithrodar lies within,” she said quietly. “I warn you to avoid this place until you have destroyed all of the spirit anchors.”
The passage ended further on at a single door.
“The way to Castothrane is beyond,” the hag nodded. “I do not know if he has placed guards or wards about him.”
“What do you know of this person?” Sial asked with interest.
“He is no ‘person,’” Malatrothe chortled. “He was already undead before Scarwall fell to Mandraivus. He was captain of Kazavon’s guards. I know that he was destroyed when Scarwall fell, but when the castle’s restless spirits reclaimed the keep, Castothrane was restored. It was sometime after that he was bound by Mithrodar. He is a wily one. You should have a care.”
Herc pushed open the door, revealing an oddly shaped chamber that apparently occupied most of the second floor of the gatehouse. A large set of winches seemed to govern the gates and portcullises in the gateway below. Troughs ran along the sides of the winches, just above a set of murder holes in the floor to the east and west of the gears. Arrow slits pierced the outer walls in several places, completing the room’s defensive posts. A half-dozen skeletal minotaurs stood about the room, and the companions beheld the source of the attack they had endured as they had fled along the causeway. The undead brutes raised their crossbows as the door opened, but Herc was across the floor before they could fully shoulder their weapons. The big warrior leaped into the air and came down swinging his shield and slashing with his blade. Within seconds, he had smashed one of the guards to bone shards. As he turned towards the others, they fired their crossbows. Most of the bolts went wide, but one struck Michael like a hammer-blow, and another spun Raelak as he drew his own bow. That was the only volley the minotaurs got. O’Reginald conjured a hail of heavy stones in the midst of the room, pummeling the creatures beneath the deluge. Simultaneously, Malatrothe hurled a barrage of magic missiles into the monsters, drawing a look of disbelief from Katarina. By that time, Raelak had recovered, and he began to loose arrows in a steady volley, until the last of the creatures collapsed into a bony heap.
Malatrothe stepped around the bones and pointed to a trapdoor in the ceiling of the guardhouse.
“Through there,” she said. “Castothrane is above.”
Herc took the lead, climbing up the ladder and carefully raising the trap door. He found himself looking out over a wide parapet. On one side was a peaked roof with an archway leading to the chamber inside. The mercenary climbed all the way out, then reached his hand down to help his companions up. At that point, Raelak took the lead, his bow at the ready. Beyond the arch was a long chamber with inward-slanting walls, much like an attic. Many old barrels and boxes, broken and empty, were stacked at the base of the walls. Stairs descended to the north, near two small alcoves with conical roofs. Striding down the center of the room was an armored warrior. He gripped a massive battle axe in one gloved hand. Where his head should have been, however, there was instead only a grinning skull, wreathed in a halo of flickering flames. Raelak drew back his bowstring, but then his eyes caught a flicker of movement from behind the barrels. Shadowy forms moved there, and as he watched, several detached themselves from the general gloom.
“’Ware the walls!” the ranger shouted to his companions. No sooner had he spoken, than the vaguely humanoid-shaped shadows began stepping through wall, passing through it as if it did not exist. At the same moment, Castothrane stepped through the archway. Silently, he raised his axe and brought it brutally down on Raelak’s arm. The Shoanti pivoted at the last minute, and the blade merely sliced into his flesh instead of completely through it.
The shadows moved among the allies, reaching out with incorporeal arms to touch, draining the very life force from their victims. Michael raised his hands to the sky and began to pray. The clouds above suddenly released a deluge of rain, but when the water struck the undead, they wailed in agony as they were burned by its holy power. Katarina took advantage of the moment to begin her own spell, conjuring a large, insubstantial fist out of thin air. The hand seized one of the shadows, holding it fast. Then, Laori rushed forward, her chain whirling around her head, and she proceeded to rip the ghostly creature to shreds. Herc moved in as well, smashing and slashing at the shadows, regardless of the fact that half of his attacks passed harmlessly through them. That was not true for Malatrothe’s arcane bolts. They crashed into the undead relentlessly, felling one after another in rapid succession.
Raelak reeled from Castothrane’s blow, but he quickly managed to put some distance between himself and the skeletal warrior. Castothrane charged, but the ranger was faster, loosing arrow after gleaming arrow from his bow. They tore into Castothrane like ballista bolts, and though Kazavon’s former minion did not falter in his resolve, his corporeal body could not withstand the assault. Ultimately, he fell, and as he did so, Malatrothe was there. The hag knelt beside him, uncapping a bottle she had pulled from her cloak. The wispy form of Castothrane’s soul could be seen being drawn into the flask. Malatrothe quickly recapped her treasure and rose, giggling. Then, somewhere in the distance, the sound of a chain snapping could be heard, followed by a soul-chilling bellow from deep within the keep.
“Mithrodar is not pleased,” Malatrothe laughed. “Too bad for you!”
With that, she spun in a circle of darkness and vanished.
__________________ "Solve a man's problems with violence, help him for a day. TEACH a man to solve his problems with violence, help him for a lifetime!"
“I knew it!” Kat snapped at Malatrothe’s disappearance.
O’Reginald shrugged. “If there’s one thing you can always trust, it’s that evil will be true to its nature. She didn’t really lie to us, after all.”
“So where does that leave us?” Kat asked. “There are still two spirit anchors left, and we don’t know where to find them.”
“The night hag mentioned that one of them, Nihil, dwells in the high towers,” Laori offered, “and the unknown one may lair in the donjon chapel. I would suggest pursuing the devil we know. The tower lies just there.”
She nodded across the parapet to where the highest spire in the keep could be seen just beyond a nearby rooftop.
“My sister speaks wisdom,” Sial added, clearing his throat.
Kat cocked an eyebrow at her companions. Herc and Raelak shrugged noncommittally. Michael and O’Reginald nodded in agreement with the Zon-Kuthonites, and Ratbone merely growled low in his throat and stalked towards the rooftop. He reached up and grabbed the edge, and then hauled himself up. He turned back expectantly, waiting for the others to follow.
__________________________________________________ ____
Beyond the peak of the rooftop lay another balcony with a single door leading into the tower. Herc led the way as the others readied themselves behind him. The sparsely furnished chamber beyond appeared to be a guardroom with a single table, two chairs, and a tarnished brazier. Above the table hung a bronze gong and striker. Three creatures paced restlessly around the room. They were humanoid in size and shape, but their skin was spiked with numerous wicked barbs. Sharp fangs filled their mouths and hooked talons protruded a full inch beyond the ends of their fingertips.
“Fiends!” Michael hissed over Herc’s shoulder.
Before the big mercenary could act, however, Kat stepped to his side and began weaving her hands hypnotically before her. Two of the devils watched her, momentarily transfixed, and then their eyes glazed over in confusion. A moment later, one of them dropped to the floor and curled up into a ball, cowering like a whipped pup. The third fiend snarled and leaped forward, but Herc moved in front of Kat and caught the brunt of the charge on his shield. He jerked the shield edge sharply up, catching the devil on the chin, but as he did so, his hand caught on the thing’s barbs, flaying his skin open to the bone. The devil recoiled from the blow, but recovered quickly. It raised one hand above its head and began to chant in its infernal tongue. A wave of power coursed over the companions, wracking all of them with excruciating pain, save for the followers of Zon-Kuthon.
Raelak stood up with an effort and drew back his bowstring. He fired a shimmering shaft directly into the devil’s gut. The fiend spun with the impact, but when it came around again, it unleashed another blast of dark energy. Then, it was struck by a half-ton of fur and claws as Ratbone slammed into it, bearing it to the ground and then rending it limb from limb, ignoring the savage rents its barbs left in his own flesh. At that moment, the confused fiend blinked its eyes once, its vision clearing. Too late it realized its situation. It launched itself towards Herc, but Ratbone was in the way. The druid caught the fiend around the waist and hurled it savagely into a wall, snapping its spine. Then he turned on the cowering fiend and quickly put it out of its misery.
__________________________________________________ ____
Nihil the Ashbringer crouched brooding in the highest rafters of her tower, the same tower that once served as Kazavon’s personal bedchamber. The irony was not lost on her. She, once the personal assassin of the Dragon Lord, gifted to him by Zon-Kuthon himself, was now reduced to skulking amid the decaying remains of her former lord’s glory, a prisoner of the usurper Mithrodar. She allowed her anger at the presence of intruders within her master’s domain to burn away her self-loathing. They had already slain most of what was left of her once-grand army of gargoyles and fiends, and now they had the temerity to come for her personally. She may have failed Kazavon once, but she swore upon her immortal soul that she would not do so again. As the door to the tower swung open below, she silently ordered her minions to their positions…
__________________________________________________ ______
The interior of the tall, hollow tower was silent and menacing. High overhead, an opening at the tower’s peak let in light, as did the arrow slits set into the walls, yet nothing seemed capable of dispelling the gloom of ancient evil that loomed there. A shallow pool of stagnant water from past rains had formed in the center of a floor that was largely empty of furnishings. Near the far wall slumped a wide bed, swathed in rotten and moldy bedclothes. The bed itself hung a few feet off the floor, supported at its corners by chains that hung from a series of iron support beams above. To the side, a large gilt throne stood upon a short dais before a series of manacles inset into the floor. A nearby fire grate, long cold, held a collection of branding irons and other torturer’s tools. A series of alcoves climbed the walls of the tower in an ascending spiral. Within each stood a statuette, art object, or polished skull.
Ratbone was the first into the tower, his hulking form taught and guarded. His feral eyes scanned the darkness above, and immediately locked onto a bare flicker of movement. His vision rapidly shifted through the visible spectrum, and then beyond. The heat signatures of three large creatures jumped out at him. They were invisible, hovering in the nest of rafters. They seemed to be mostly skeletal, though the fact that their bodies radiated heat meant that they were of flesh and blood, not undead. Long, scorpion-like tails arched over the heads, the spike-like stingers dripping with poison. Ratbone turned to warn his companions as they filed into the room, but at that moment, a harsh, shrieking voice ripped the air, and power flowed through its words. As the blasphemous sound hammered into the group, all of them felt their strength sapped, and their heads swam. At the same time, the three fiends above appeared as they flew down, howling in hell-spawned fury.
Katarina looked up as the devils drew nearer. She closed her eyes, driving back her terror and brought the words of a spell to her lips. When she opened her eyes again, they flashed with eldritch light, and the three creatures paused, hovering not twenty feet above. Their eyes locked on one another, and hatred burned in them. Talons hooked and fangs bared, they fell on each other, locked in mortal combat. Raelak quickly took advantage of the confusion and began firing amidst the fiends, while beside him, O’Reginald hurled bolts of crackling lightning into the fray.
‘There’s still something else up there!’ Ratbone snarled through the mental link the companions shared. ‘These vermin can’t be the spirit anchor. It’s still here somewhere!’
“I’ll force it to show itself!” Michael shouted aloud.
The priest cradled his holy symbol and began to pray fervently. The medallion flared with light that reached all the way to the tower roof. In its shining glow, Nihil stood revealed. She was a twisted, contorted thing with as much iron as flesh to her body. A huge pair of bat-like wings unfurled from her back and she wielded a brutal scythe that was fused with the flesh of her right arm. She hissed in fury and folded her wings, diving towards the floor forty-feet below. As she passed her quarreling underlings, she beat at them furiously with her clawed left hand.
“Fools!” she spat in Infernal. “If you want to die, I’ll kill you myself and turn your wretched souls over to the flesh peddlers!”
The bone devils shook themselves free of Kat’s beguilement at the sound of their mistress’s voice, and then proceeded to follow her down. Nihil backwinged just above the floor, hovering as she raised her free hand. Power gathered around her, and she unleashed it in a black burst, the magic siphoning the very moisture from the bodies of her enemies. At the sight of the enraged ashmede devil, both Laori and Asyra quailed, their faces draining of color. In stark terror, the pair fled the room. Sial watched them go in disbelief. His eyes narrowed as he assessed the situation, and in an instant, his decision was made.
“No!” he cried in mock fear. “Spare me, Unholy One!”
He then turned on his heel and ran after his companions.
Ratbone watched the withdrawal of the Brotherhood of Bones with a mixture of disgust and satisfaction. Quickly, however, his attention was drawn back to the matter at hand. Willing his body to transform, he shifted into his avian form and lifted off the floor. As he rose towards the fiends, he seized Herc by the shoulders in his talons and carried him aloft as well. Both of them struck at Nihil as they drew close, but the devil’s skin was like striking iron, and it shed the brunt of their blows.
“Now!” the ashmede cried.
She folded her wings once more and dove past the druid and the mercenary, landing heavily on the floor in the midst of Raelak, Michael, Kat and O’Reginald. A moment later, the bone devils chanted in unison, and frigid mist began coalescing below Ratbone and Herc. Within seconds, it solidified into a wall of solid ice bisecting the tower, separating the two from the rest of their friends…and Nihil!
Raelak darted clear of the ten-foot tall ashmede devil, struggling to get enough room to bring his bow to bear. He loosed three arrows in rapid succession, and Nihil shrieked in a mixture of pain and fury. She lunged at the ranger, batting O’Reginald aside as she charged. Her scythe-like appendage slashed at Raelak like a thresher through wheat. The Shoanti reeled, and felled heavily to his back. Nihil reared above him, preparing to drive the point of her scythe through his chest, when suddenly a bolt of green energy struck her from behind, where O’Reginald had managed to raise himself up on one elbow. Nihil stumbled as her limbs felt loose and clumsy. Her eyes blazed, and lightning flew from her fingertips, arcing from O’Reginald to Raelak to Kat, and lastly Michael. In the aftermath, all four lay on the ground around her. She howled in victory as she moved in for the kill, but her celebration was premature. Too late she saw Raelak raise his bow a final time. Two arrows flew from his string simultaneously, and both struck the fiend in the middle of her chest. Stricken, she stumbled back. Her foot caught on the short dais, and she collapsed into the ancient throne, her head slumping down upon her chest, which heaved one final breath and then was still. Somewhere in the distance, a chain snapped and an anguished moan rumbled through Scarwall.
Ratbone rapidly shifted back into his ape form, dropping Herc to the surface of the ice wall as he landed upon it himself. Just in time, as the first of the bone devils leaped upon him. Ratbone caught the fiend in mid-air, enfolding it into his four-armed grasp. The druid squeezed as the devil clawed and bit at him, as all the while its spine snapped and cracked. Finally, it went limp in Ratbone’s arms, and he dropped its lifeless corpse to the ice. As it struck the wall, however, the ice began to split and crack beneath the feet of Ratbone and Herc. A moment later, the wall collapsed entirely. The druid and mercenary fell, and the remaining two bone devils came after them. Katarina hurled a lance of solidified sonic energy at one, and Herc managed to grapple with the fiend as it tumbled through the air. He slammed at its neck with his shield again and again as it fell, and when the two of them finally struck the floor, only Herc rose to his feet again. Ratbone and the last devil landed heavily near Kat, and as they rolled to their feet, the beguiler blasted the fiend with another sonic lance. It stumbled from the impact, and in that moment Ratbone was on it. The feral druid savaged and tore at the devil as if he were possessed himself. It was no contest…
__________________ "Solve a man's problems with violence, help him for a day. TEACH a man to solve his problems with violence, help him for a lifetime!"
Last edited by JollyDoc; 28th August 2009 at 05:01 AM..
Agreed, but what is it they say: 4th time's the charm. Have you already played it, JollyDoc, or are you just about to?
It sounds like you gave them a run for their money with Nihil, but...no spoilers here, alas
So far the guys are holding their own. The defeated the last spirit anchor this past weekend (I won't spoil it for those who haven't read the AP), and tomorrow they're probably going up against Mithrodar. There have been a few touch and go moments, though. In my next update, you will see how a simple random encounter can go terribly wrong, and how second guessing yourself can be fatal as well...
__________________ "Solve a man's problems with violence, help him for a day. TEACH a man to solve his problems with violence, help him for a lifetime!"
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