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!
__________________ "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 of you to join us,” O’Reginald smiled dryly at the Brotherhood of Bones. “We’d hate to think you’d run out on us.”
“I apologize for our weakness,” Laori said, her cheeks burning.
“I do not require you to speak for me!” Sial snapped at her.
“Then what do you have to say for yourself, Count?” the elf woman whirled on him.
“I do not have to explain myself,” Sial growled, “to any of you!”
He turned on his heel and stalked away to the far side of the tower, Asyra following in his wake.
“Nevertheless,” Laori sighed, “I am sorry. I…don’t know what came over me. Fear is not an emotion I am accustomed to feeling.”
“Don’t worry about it,” O’Reginald clapped her on the shoulder. “I was mainly giving the ‘Shadowcount’ a hard time. Nothing you could have done about it, and truth to tell, that bitch scared the hell out of me too!”
Laori gave him a small smile out of the corner of her eye.
“What do you make of these?” Herc asked Kat. He was gazing up at the alcoves that spiraled up around the circumference of the tower. Almost half of them held polished, though brittle-looking skulls. He reached out and picked up the nearest one.
“I am Andachi of Tamrivena,” the skull said suddenly, causing Herc to drop it reflexively. It shattered into dust as it struck the floor.
“Andachi?” Michael asked. “Did it say Andachi?”
“Do you know the name?” Kat asked.
“Yes,” the priest nodded. “Count Andachi ruled Tamrivena…what is now known as Canterwall, in Ustalav…almost a millennia ago.”
Curiously, Michael picked up a second skull. It to spoke a name, as did the one after that, and the one after that. Michael identified each of them as notable people who had all lived almost one-thousand years before…until they had apparently perished at the hands of Kazavon.
“This is all fascinating,” O’Reginald yawned as he came over, “but I’m exhausted, and I’ve depleted most of my spells for the day. If we’ve still got another spirit anchor to deal with, as well as this Mithrodar thing, then can I suggest that we hole up here for the night and get some rest?”
“I think that’s a bad idea,” Ratbone grumbled, having assumed his true form for a change. “This place is bad enough during the day. We don’t know what comes out at night.”
“I think we’re safe enough,” Kat shrugged. “Nihil had this place secured pretty tightly, and there’s always the roof exit if we run into any trouble. I can make sure the door stays locked, and then we can take turns on guard while the others sleep.”
The druid merely glowered and turned away.
__________________________________________________ ____
Two hours later, most of the companions were fast asleep. Herc, Raelak and Asyra remained awake and on guard, the humans keeping their distance from the kyton. A lantern burned in the center of the tower floor, and shadows danced at the periphery of its flickering flame. Raelak’s eyes narrowed as he watched the light. It seemed to him that some of shadows moved a little differently than the others. Suddenly, several of them detached from the darkness and swarmed towards them. Raelak raised his bow and loosed a shimmering arrow at one as it came. The shaft pierced the shadow, seemingly hanging in mid-air. Then they were upon him and his companions.
The shadows struck like living wraiths, their incorporeal hands reaching through armor as if it didn’t exist. Raelak, Asyra and Herc all felt the cold embrace of the undead, their strength leeched out of them. Another knelt beside O’Reginald as he was rousing from his slumber. Before he could do more than open his eyes, however, the shadow reached into his chest and the wizard suddenly found himself paralyzed…so weak that he could no longer move. Quickly, the ranger and the mercenary rallied what stamina they had left, shooting and slashing at the animate darkness. Behind them, Sial rose to his feet, Asyra at his side. The dark priest raised the profane symbol of Zon-Kuthon from around his neck and channeled black power through it. As if flared with red light, several of the shadows quailed before it and disappeared through the walls. Despite their weakness, Herc and Raelak were able to beat back the few remaining ones, and then they stood heaving, their hands on their knees. Quietly, Michael went to them, making the rounds to try and restore some of the damage done.
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Dawn came gray and bleak through the skylight at the top of the tower. The remainder of the night had passed uneventfully, though sleep had not come easily to any of the companions, plagued with troubling dreams as they were. Ratbone remained silent on the subject as the group readied themselves to move out again, though Katarina could tell the druid was displeased. It was decided among them that they should seek entrance to the donjon. Malatrothe had said that she suspected the last spirit anchor was inside, along with the only chance of defeating Mithrodar.
They made their way from Nihil’s tower back down to the castle courtyard. Atop a landing across the yard a double door stood, its bronze finish so tarnished that it appeared almost black. Cast in bas-relief on its exterior were gruesome images of devils and priest cavorting among the corpses and tortured souls of the damned. A skull and spiked chain overlooked the entire scene from the center of the doors…the symbol of Zon-Kuthon. A heavy wheel was set into the center of each door. Upon closer inspection, however, it became obvious that the stone jamb around the doors had been altered in some way to form a seal around them. The central seam had likewise been sealed with lead.
“What do you make of this?” Kat asked the others.
“Looks to me like someone didn’t want anyone getting in,” Herc replied.
“Or out,” Raelak noted.
“If all of Mithrodar’s spirit anchors are already bound to Scarwall,” Michael asked, “then what would be the point of sealing one of them inside?”
“Maybe it’s not a spirit anchor that’s inside,” Kat said quietly.
“What are you implying?” O’Reginald asked.
Kat shrugged. “Just that maybe we’re placing too much faith in what the night hag said. How do we know she was being truthful? Perhaps she sent us here on purpose. Perhaps it is Mithrodar who is imprisoned within, and the final spirit anchor lies back in the keep.”
O’Reginald shook his head. “No!” he snapped. “It’s like I said before…I’ve been around and seen some things, and if there’s one thing I know for a fact, you can always trust Evil to be Evil. Malatrothe told us she was self-serving. We knew what she wanted out of the deal. There would be no purpose in her setting us up. She would gain nothing by it. I think we should stick with the plan.”
“I’m…not sure…,” Michael sounded doubtful. Herc and Raelak looked dubious as well. Sial and Laori kept their expressions carefully neutral, while Ratbone’s face, once more in his animalistic form, was unreadable.
“Perhaps we could just go and look inside the room the hag warned us of…,” Kat offered.
“It’s a mistake!” O’Reginald shouted, but he could tell the matter had already been decided.
__________________________________________________ ______
They stood huddled around the door Malatrothe had warned them away from, Kat’s ear pressed against it.
“I don’t hear anything,” she whispered.
Herc nodded and he gripped the door handle. He looked at Raelak, and the ranger nodded in return. Herc twisted and pushed the door open.
A large hall loomed beyond the door. Thick wooden columns, their sides caked with dust, supported the ceiling above. Between them, in the center of the room, sat a large fire pit, its ashes long cold. Many old stains marred the floor, some surely of spilled food and ale, though several darker ones appeared more grisly in origin. At the western end of the hall, a wide dais rose where the lord’s table could be set to oversee the affairs of the hall. In the center of the dais was a great chair carved of oak and studded with iron rivets. Down one step and to the left of it was a smaller chair of oak, less elaborate. A lone figure stood silent and still upon the dais. Its eyes blazed in a deathless rage. It seemed to be some sort of phantom, floating unfettered by the bonds of the living world. The ghostly horror possessed its own ethereal bonds, though, its semi-transparent, vaguely humanoid figure clenched in the hold of countless crisscrossing chains that writhed and tightened over its vaporous form in unending torture. Several of those chains extended from the ghost’s body, some dangling through the floor or reaching seemingly through the ceiling above, while others pooled in spectral lengths upon the ground like solid things. Three particularly long chains seemed to have been broken halfway along their length. On the floor at the phantom’s feet, lay the shriveled, husk-like remains of Malatrothe.
“Uh-oh,” Herc said.
Before the mercenary and the ranger could move or warn their companions, Mithrodar, for there could be no doubt that was whom they faced, swung one length of chain and snapped it out like a whip, stretching it fully thirty feet to strike quick as a snake around Raelak. The Shoanti screamed in agony as he felt the spectral links pulling something…vital…from him. Herc looked on in horror as his friend’s face became drawn and gray, his eyes sunken. The big warrior seized the Shoanti by the back of his jerkin and yanked him out the door. As he turned, he saw shadowy forms materializing from the darkness around the perimeter of the room. They looked human, but he could see through them, their archaic robes flowing around them like wisps of cloud. As he watched, they began stepping through the walls and into the corridor where the others waited, still oblivious to the danger.
“Run!” Herc shouted.
__________________ "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!"
__________________ 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
__________________ "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!"
“Ha!” O’Reginald barked at his companions as they stood panting in the courtyard, having narrowly escaped the clutches of Mithrodar and his spectral minions. “I told you! I warned you!”
“Alright, you’ve quite made your point!” Kat snapped angrily. “We made a choice, and it was a mistake, but we’re all still here, so let’s move on!”
“Just wanted to say I told you so,” the wizard grumbled under his breath.
There seemed no other alternative but to return to the donjon’s sealed doors.
“So how do you propose to circumvent this dilemma?” Sial asked sarcastically as the group stood before the portals. In response, O’Reginald pointed one finger at the doors, spoke a word, and sent a thin green beam at one of them, reducing it instantly to dust. Sial’s face twisted in a grimace of distaste and he turned quickly away.
Ratbone moved to the fore of the group and peered inside the door. The floor of the foyer beyond was tiled in blood-red marble. An altar that resembled a skull, its lower section wrapped in iron chains, and its top cut off flat to form a level surface, stood in an alcove to the east. A ten-foot diameter pool of what appeared to be stagnant water, its rim fashioned of white marble, sat in the western alcove opposite the altar. Ratbone stepped across the threshold, but as soon as he did, he doubled over and grunted in agony as some unseen force violently shoved the one-ton shapeshifter backwards onto the balcony.
“Hmm…,” Sial quirked one eyebrow in amusement.
Kat stepped to the doorway and passed her hands over it.
“There is a powerful enchantment here,” she said, “a Forbiddance.”
“May I?” Laori asked, moving to Kat’s side. “This is a holy place of Zon-Kuthon. Perhaps the way will open to His faithful.”
Kat shrugged and gestured the elf forward. Laori stepped past her…and passed easily through the door. When Kat examined the portal again, she found that the Forbiddance was gone.
Once inside, Laori, Sial and Asyra genuflected before the altar, and then each of them used the spiked barbs on their chains to slice open their palms. They went to the pool and dipped their hands into the filthy water, washing the blood clean.
A second set of doors on the opposite side of the shrine opened into what seemed to have once been a common room. A worn by colorful carpet covered most of the floor, and a number of wooden tables and comfortable chairs were spaced about the chamber for informal gatherings and meals. A small kitchen had been set up by a low stone fireplace alongside a cupboard that held some dishes and utensils as well as a few desiccated remains of foodstuffs. Strangely, a half-dozen figures were seated around one of the tables, as if in deep discussion. They wore black robes that appeared rotten and threadbare with age. They turned in unison when the doors opened, and it was only then that the companions saw that their gaunt faces and empty eye sockets were translucent, as where the trappings they wore. They shrieked when they sensed the living life force of the intruders and rose, claw-like fingernails bared.
The specters flew among them, their touch numbing with the preternatural cold of the grave. Sial, reasoning that the spirits would obey him as a devotee of Zon-Kuthon, tried to rebuke them, but to no avail. They showed no preference, nor discrimination in whom they assaulted. So the Zon-Kuthonites found themselves fighting hand-in-glove with the K.I.A. With the two forces fighting in unison for the first time, they managed to destroy the wraiths one-by-one. As the last one faded from existence, Michael, Sial and Laori tended their allies in silence, a sense of shared responsibility overriding animosity.
__________________________________________________ _____
The donjon seemed largely abandoned, yet untouched by the passage of the centuries. Given the nature of the numerous empty rooms the allies encountered, the structure obviously served as Kazavon’s personal temple to Zon-Kuthon. Yet there was still a brooding presence in the air, almost as if something…waited. Then, they came upon a chamber that seemed shrouded in writhing shadows. A large, humanoid figure stood motionless deeper in the room. Ratbone crouched, his hackles raised as he stalked slowly forward, waving his companions behind him. As he drew closer to the figure, he realized it was in fact a statue of a cloaked figure with a skull for a head and a spiked chain dangling from its eye sockets…a representation of Zon-Kuthon. The druid relaxed slightly…until he saw a second, smaller figure step from behind the statue. It to was humanoid, its body wrapped from head to toe in filthy bandages. An ornate, archaic pectoral hung from its neck, and an elaborate head dress topped its turbaned head. Ratbone snarled and swung a massive paw at the frail-looking mummy. His eyes widened a moment later when the undead priest grabbed his hand in mid-swing with a vice-like grip. Suddenly, a battle cry roared from behind the druid as Herc rushed to his side. The big mercenary bull-rushed forward behind his shield…and the mummy deftly side-stepped his charge. The creature then raised its free hand and began tracing a luminous sigil in mid-air. Laori cried out in agony as she saw it, her body wracked in agonizing pain. Katarina quickly conjured a mass of darkness to veil the symbol, while at the same time sending the roiling cloud to envelop the mummy lord. The dark tendrils tried to wrap around the priest’s arms and legs, but to no avail.
“To Hades with this!” Raelak barked.
The ranger then loosed a barrage of shimmering arrows, skewering the mummy with each shot. The creature howled and recoiled from the assault, and that was when Ratbone pounced. The druid clamped his jaws down on the mummy’s neck and proceeded to shake the priest like a dog with a bone. He slung his head, flinging the mummy across the room. As it attempted to rise, a lance of pure sound from Kat’s hand obliterated it into a cloud of dust.
__________________________________________________ __
Finally, after searching the donjon for what seemed like hours, Katarina found a well-hidden door secreted in an out-of-the-way corner. Behind it was a narrow flight of stairs that led down. At the bottom was a long hallway which ended at a pair of large double doors.
“The chapel,” Sial whispered reverently.
Ratbone glowered at the priest over his shoulder before he pushed open the doors. The vast chamber on the other side was floored in gray slate and supported by thick pillars of obsidian. Torches mounted on the pillars burned, yet their flames were strangely dim, barely illuminating the cathedral-like space. The pillars themselves were decorated with skulls and bones…tiny white pinpoints of light seemed to dance in the eye sockets of each. To the northwest, a tall statue of a skull-headed man dressed in dark robes stood behind a black marble altar, on which lay heaped mounds of ashes, bits of bone, and a single skull, its teeth and eye sockets set with glittering gemstones. Jagged, barbed chains dangled from the statue’s eye sockets. Thick black curtains hung from the walls of the chamber.
Cautiously, Ratbone moved towards the altar.
“Careful,” Kat warned from behind him. “I sense a strong magic presence beneath that skull.”
The druid nodded and continued forward. When he reached the altar, he tilted his head quizzically as he regarded the odd skull. Then he reached out and simply picked it up, dusting off the ash as he did so. A moment later, the skull floated out of his hand and hovered in the air before him. The ashes and bone on the altar began to scatter as if up in a small vortex.
“Get back!” Herc shouted as he moved up beside Ratbone, swinging his sword as he came. The blade struck the skull solidly, but rebounded off as if it had struck a stone wall.
The large gem in the skull’s right eye socket began to glow red. Farther back in the chapel, Raelak felt a power seize him. It was not his body that was seized, but his soul. For the briefest of moments, he felt his spirit leave his flesh, but then just as quickly, he was wrenched back, yet he felt…drained, and so very, very tired. Feeling like his arms could barely move, he lifted his bow and fired. The arrow struck the skull directly in the frontal bone…and bounced harmlessly off. Ratbone bared his fangs, seized the skull with both hands, and bit down on its cranium savagely. He felt a satisfying crack between his jaws before it wriggled violently in his grip again.
“Hold it still for just another second!” Herc shouted.
The big merc then slammed his shield forward, simultaneously bringing his sword down in an overhand chop. The blade struck the skull directly across the fracture Ratbone had created, and the bones shattered into a thousand pieces, the priceless gems skittering across the floor, their light going dim. In the distance, a final chain snapped, and a soul-freezing roar shook the foundations of Scarwall. Mithrodar was free…
__________________ "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!"
Ooooh, this is just one brutal fight after another! I'm enjoying it immensely, of course!
__________________ 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
It's too late to tell them that a dispel evil would have sufficed. Joke aside, great job, guys. JollyDoc, did you ever read your group the intro or sidebar from Pathfinder to this encounter? You know, the one that says "Hey, the DL will very, very likely kill some or all PCs, but go ahead, it's fun."
__________________ This knight posts with safety off
It's too late to tell them that a dispel evil would have sufficed. Joke aside, great job, guys. JollyDoc, did you ever read your group the intro or sidebar from Pathfinder to this encounter? You know, the one that says "Hey, the DL will very, very likely kill some or all PCs, but go ahead, it's fun."
I did, indeed. They laughed.
__________________ "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!"
Once again, the nine companions stood outside the doors of Mithrodar’s lair. They knew the chained spirit was waiting for them, but they could only hope that what Malatrothe had told them was true…he would be weaker, and perhaps vulnerable, without his spirit anchors. Their whole plan hinged upon it.
All stood poised and ready as Ratbone threw open the doors. Even knowing what they would see, they were still caught off guard by the sight of Mithrodar and his specters hovering directly on the other side of the portals. O’Reginald quickly pulled energy into his hands, and then hurled an orb of pure force at the spirit. Mithrodar recoiled momentarily, but then he and his minions surged forward, the specters passing easily through the walls to insinuate themselves among the allies.
“Now!” Katarina snapped at Michael.
The priest nodded hastily, and began to pray. A wave of energy flowed from his holy symbol, encompassing all of the combatants. In a flash of blinding light, it vanished, but its effects were readily apparent to all. Mithrodar and all of his spectral servants had been rendered corporeal. They were solid flesh once more! Michael followed up immediately by channeling his holy power into the undead, searing their flesh with Iomedae’s wrath. The specters shrieked in horror as they looked down at their all-too-mortal wounds. Then the Brotherhood of Bones was upon them. The priests and the kyton laid about them with their spiked chains like Osirion dervishes. The spirits could not defend themselves. So certain were they in their minds that their incorporeal nature would protect them, they could not conceive of any way to stave off the withering assault of the Zon-Kuthonites. Mithrodar, on the other hand, was all too aware of what Michael’s spell had done. Kazavon’s former seneschal had not risen to that position by being a fool. He turned away from the battle and began to run, but before he had gone five steps, a great weight struck him from behind as Ratbone bowled him over and bullrushed past him, cutting off any chance of escape. Mithrodar snarled as he pushed himself back to his feet, and snapped one of his chains forward, wrapping it around the druid’s ankle. As he prepared to pull Ratbone from his feet, however, five shrieking arrows thudded into his back. His mouth open in shock, the chained spirit turned slowly around, only to have the edge of Herc’s shield slam into his neck.
An inhuman shriek issued from Mithrodar as his body twisted and spiraled as if caught in a vortex. A heartbeat later, he was gone. Within moments, the walls of the castle began to shimmer and brighten as the shadows that had clung to every inch of the cursed structure faded. The sound of countless sighs whispered in the ears of the companions, and the oppressive sense of menace overlaying the structure vanished. The remaining specters simply winked out of existence. At the same time, Katarina felt a familiar presence envelope her. Zellara was free. Her spirit reentered the harrow deck as if returning home. Suddenly, a small luminescence formed in front of the allies. It rapidly brightened until a figure manifested. It was a confused-looking human man in early adulthood. He wore finely cut, if long out of style clothing, and clearly was a nobleman of some sort. As he looked around and noticed the companions, his ghostly flesh began to strip away, revealing raw muscle and bone below as if he were being flayed by invisible knives. After being reduced in such a horrible fashion, however, his skin reappeared a moment later, only to start the process all over again. To his credit, the ghost seemed to hardly notice his continuing mutilation, with only the occasional flinch as a particularly tender bit of skin was tugged away. He began to speak, his accent heavy and archaic, yet his words were clear, manifesting as sounds as much as thoughts.
“You. You have done a great thing today. You have accomplished the conclusion of a legend. What has festered here in Scarwall is no more, and in saving us all, you have returned honor to Tamrivena after these long years of shame…a shame I created, and a shame I was unable to lift. I sent Kazavon into Belkzen, so many ages ago. Eventually, when even my coward’s soul could no longer bear to hear tell of his cruelties, I came here to Scarwall to attempt to undo what I had done in asking for the Midnight Lord’s aid in defending Tamrivena. Yet again, I failed…my general, Kazavon, had me skinned alive and ate the strips raw before my dying gaze. And when I did die, my soul remained, trapped here as surely as any prisoner.
There came a time soon thereafter when Kazavon was finally slain, laid low, as with many of his cruel minions, by a powerful blade borne by a hero named Mandraivus. His blade Serithtial brought an end to Kazavon’s rule, yet could not quench his spirit, for Kazavon was one of the Midnight Lord’s chosen. Mandraivus wisely ordered the dragon’s relics taken away, and remained behind to watch over the castle. The presence of his faith, his strength of will, and most of all, his blade Serithtial kept the spirits of the dead quiet, yet these did nothing to protect him from a baser threat. The orcs came down and murdered him. As he fell, his soul became trapped in these cursed walls. Without his presence, the light of Serithtial went dark, and the spirits of Kazavon’s legacy took hold. This is the blasphemy you have righted today, and now, Scarwall will be left to crumble to dust as the ages march on.
Yet I sense in you that your quest is only partially done. I have dwelt in Kazavon’s echo for too long not to feel his strength, his influence, take seed in your queen, so far away. Strange names that I do not know are in my head. Korvosa. Ileosa. Your own. Kazavon quickens in your home, and you must recover Serithtial if you are to cast him down as surely as you have cast down his presence here. Yet the agents of the Midnight Lord know of the threat Serithtial poses to his child. While they cannot destroy the sacred blade, nor even take it far from this place without invoking the wrath of Iomedae…they can hide it.
I can still feel a presence in this place, a power linked to the Midnight Lord. It remains in the Star Tower, once Kazavon’s inner sanctum. I see that here, in the deepest heart of Scarwall, your goal lies hidden. A fragment of Scarwall’s curse lingers there, lodged and stubborn. When the curse held sway, this way was blocked to you. Now, seek it out, and it shall lead you to your goal. An now, with my time here at an end, your time shall at last begin…”
The end of his speech coincided with the completion of one of his ghostly mutilations, except that his form did not rejuvenate. Instead, it crumpled and slowly faded from view. The House of Tamrivena was at last no more…
__________________________________________________ ______
“A Star Tower!” Laori exclaimed, awe in her voice. “Who would I’ve thought I’d ever live to see one?”
The companions stood on the roof of the eight-pointed structure that abutted the donjon. A single, stone building with no obvious entrance sat atop the tower. The marble of both the building and the surrounding tower showed no seams and were polished to a sheen, almost as if the entire structure were carved from a single immense shaft of stone. Only on the southeastern wall of the small, stone building was the smooth polish marred. There, a carving of a ten-foot-wide skull with spiked chains dangling from its eye sockets looked out over the castle below.
O’Reginald shrugged. “So? What’s the big deal?”
“It’s ancient!” Laori said, turning. “It was old even before the birth of Thassilon! Its base reaches down to the Darklands, miles below us! It’s also one of many. They are remnants of an ancient war between the gods of Golarion and the Rough Beast, Rovagug. According to legend, Sarenrae and Asmodeus were the two gods most directly associated with Rovagug’s imprisonment…Sarenrae cut open the world to fashion an oubliette, and then drove Rovagug into it, while Asmodeus used a special key to lock him within. What is not as well known, however, is Zon-Kuthon’s role in the capture of the Rough Beast. It was he who reinforced the stitching shut of the world, with Star Towers along key nexus points above the oubliette. They were meant to block Rovagug’s faithful from contacting him. This is one such tower!”
“Yes, thank you for the history listen,” Sial said in a bored tone, “but perhaps we should turn our attention to more practical matters, such as how we get inside.”
The Shadowcount reached out and touched the carved skull. Nothing happened.
“There, you see?” he asked. “Practical.”
Without another word he simply stepped through the wall of the structure and vanished. Asyra did the same a moment later. The K.I.A. turned questioningly to Laori.
“A phase door,” she said, her mouth tight-lipped. “It activated when he touched the skull. Only Zon-Kuthon’s faithful can see it, but it’s there, trust me. Just follow me.”
The inside of the chamber was completely empty, save for a five-foot-wide flight of stairs that wound down into darkness. The companions descended in single file, emerging at the bottom into a large chamber. The walls and floor had a strange organic texture, appearing almost like black, decaying flesh streaked with glistening swaths of blood. Four pillars carved to look like coils of entwined arteries and spinal cords supported the ceiling…nails and surgical tools were embedded in those pillars at key and painful-looking positions. At the base of the stairs was a ten-foot-wide open shaft filled with thick, bluish mist. No sooner had the last of the group stepped into the room, than a disembodied, sibilant voice echoed throughout it.
“Greetings, and welcome to the Star Tower,” the voice said. “Which of you wishes to take on the honor and glory of becoming its new Curate?”
A hush fell over the group as they cast their eyes about the chamber for the unseen speaker.
“Curate?” O’Reginald asked innocently.
“The Curate is the living soul of this Star Tower,” the voice replied. “The Curate lives until the End Times, or until violence necessitates a replacement, and watches over the Star Tower. The Curate is the Star Tower. It is an honor to even be considered for the role, and to be selected and reject it is to spit in the Midnight Lord’s eye.”
“And so the time has come,” Sial spat as he whirled towards Laori. “I have watched you with these heretics as you have drifted further and further from the teachings of our Lord. Taking on the role of Curate is the only way you could hope to atone for your sins!”
For a moment Laori stood agape, and then her eyes flashed with anger.
“It is you who has constantly obstructed our goal of seeing Kazavon’s fangs returned to Nidal!” she shouted. “Perhaps it is you who should become Curate!”
“How dare you address me with some impertinence?” Sial roared, and Asyra moved to his side, her chains gripped in her hands. Sial raised his hands, black energy crackling about them. Laori raised her own weapon, hatred etched upon her beautiful face. Suddenly, a deafening roar filled the room as Ratbone reared up behind the kyton, and lifted her bodily from the ground in a ferocious bear hug. Her spine audibly snapped and she went limp in his arms. He dropped her bonelessly to the floor. Sial turned, focusing his magic on the druid, but before he could strike, Herc leveled him with a hammer-blow from the edge of his shield.
“I’ve been wanting to do that for a long time,” the big merc grinned.
“I see the choice has been made,” the disembodied voice intoned, a trace of amusement evident. “Priestess,” it said, obviously addressing Laori, “I invite you to accompany me as I escort your compatriot to the Midnight Lord’s palace. There you may testify in person to the Shadowcount’s traitorous acts, if you so desire.”
Laori’s mouth fell open. “I…I would be honored!” she stammered.
“As for the rest of you,” the voice continued, “I know that you are here to reclaim Serithtial, and that you hope to use it to drive Kazavon’s spirit from Queen Ileosa. I assure you that you have no more to fear from Zon-Kuthon. He desires that Kazavon’s spirit be removed from the petty young queen as much as anyone. Such a fate does not befit even a fragment of one of His mightiest warlords. The blade has been taken, but it is not far from here. It is in the clutches of the Children of Rovagug, deep below the Star Tower. You need merely to step into yonder shaft, and you shall be transported to the deeps where Serithtial has languished for so many years.”
At that moment a massive shadow detached itself from the ceiling of the chamber as a massive creature drifted downward. It looked like a great bat formed from pure darkness.
“The time has come,” the nightwing said to Laori as if lifted Sial from the floor.
Laori nodded, but turned to the six companions first. “Know that I only ever meant to aid you, for your goals and mine were much the same. I never intended to betray you. You may call me ‘evil,’ but I am not without honor. May the Midnight Lord guide you upon the rest of your journey, and perhaps our paths will cross again one day.”
With that, the nightwing engulfed both she and Sial and vanished into blackness.
__________________________________________________ ______
As each of the companions stepped into the blue light of the pit, they experienced a sudden plummet of vertiginous length, seeming to stretch on for miles and miles. A moment later, however, they found themselves standing in an empty chamber, the air cold and still. The jagged walls of the tower were broken to the northeast by a single stone door, and the floor was polished to a reflective sheen. Thirty-feet above, the ceiling was completely obscured by a roiling bank of glowing blue mist.
The door gave on to a cave tunnel, the walls of which looked moist, yet were strangely dry to the touch, covered with a sheen of glittering mineral deposits. The tunnel wound for some distance before ending in an immense chamber. The rank odor of decay, filth, and wet fur clung to the air with a palpable tenacity. The cavern faded into the dark away to the north. A wide, rocky shelf sat in the southern portion of the cave, and upon this shelf were four crude, domed hovels, each nearly twenty feet in height, and built from crude stone blocks mortared together with a nasty mix of mud, hair, and other assorted debris. Each stone igloo had a large arched opening into its darkened interior. To the north, a silent lake of black waters stretched into the distance. Very few ripples disturbed its surface, giving it the appearance at times of a massive sheet of polished obsidian. Far out in the water to the northwest, a single point of light glowed just above the surface, a bright star whose radiance illuminated a few stony islands about seventy feet out in the lake, though the source of the light was not discernible from shore.
Suddenly, several hulking shapes began to emerge from the darkness of the igloos. Shaggy, black fur matted with filth and debris covered the deformed giants. Their arms split into two forearms at both elbows, each ending in a massive four-fingered claw. Their heads were a travesty of nature, with vertical, fang-filled maws splitting them from what would be crown to chin on any normal creature. Bony protuberances jutted from the sides of their heads, each sheltering a baleful eye, pink and bloodshot. Their horrid appearance was matched only by their stench, a rancid combination of wet fur and decay. With an inhuman shriek, the creatures lumbered forward, their talons snapping viciously. Herc and Ratbone met them halfway. The big merc swung his shield in a short arc as he spun, hammering its edge into the back of the foremost monstrosity. Its spine snapped, and it crumpled screaming to the ground. As Ratbone stepped past it, he bent quickly and tore out its throat. A moment later, an explosion of fire and electricity erupted in the center of the beach, engulfing the arachnid-like horrors. They squealed in agony, but continued charging forward, only to run straight into a whirling wall of blades that Michael conjured out of thin air. One fell, slashed to ribbons, while Raelak opened fire on the others. One managed to free itself, burned and ripped flesh hanging from it in ribbons. It struck the ranger back-hand, sending him sprawling to the ground. As it moved in for the kill, however, Herc was there, disemboweling it with one blow. The remaining three, still writhing within the blade barrier, were instantly immolated as O’Reginald unleashed a second energy ball.
__________________________________________________ ________
“Can you hear that?” Herc asked as the companions stood on the shore of the lake.
“What?” Michael asked. “I don’t hear anything.”
“Singing…,” Herc said absently. “It’s calling me. Serithtial is calling me.”
“You’re saying that’s the sword out there?” O’Reginald asked. “That light?”
“That’s her,” Herc nodded.
“Then what are we waiting for?” the sorcerer asked. “We’re home free!”
While Ratbone transformed into his avian form, O’Reginald enabled the others to fly. They rose into the air and flew across the dark water, making for the distant island and the glowing blade embedded in the stone there. It was Ratbone who first saw the behemoth rising from the water beneath them. It was a horrible amalgam of man and worm, its flesh split and filled with maggots. The creature was all that remained of Kleestad, once Kazavon’s chamberlain. He had betrayed the warlord by giving Mandraivus the information he needed to strike at Scarwall when its defenses were lowest, and directed the cabal to a secret entrance to the castle. For his treachery, Kazavon intended to reward him with a slow and painful death, yet the warlord only managed to break Kleestad’s ankles before Mandraivus and his companions entered the throne room. Kleestad managed to crawl to safety during the ferocious battle that followed, and remained in hiding throughout Mandraivus’s short reign. When the curse of Scarwall fell, he emerged, half-mad, to find the castle empty of all save the dead. He found Mandraivus’s body and claimed Serithtial for his own, calling upon Zon-Kuthon to witness his victory. Yet the Midnight Lord was not pleased, and transformed the chamberlain into a monster, hurling him into the lightless vault deep below Scarwall, Serithtial still clutched in his hand. Almost a millennium later, the last thrall of Kazavon lived on in his underground prison, in a final twist of fate becoming the guardian of the very blade that laid his master low.
Now Kleestad erupted in rage as he sensed the trespassers in his domain. He roared his challenge, and it was answered by the battle cries of Herc and Ratbone. The two warriors charged the leviathan, tearing into it with steel and claw. O’Reginald hurled fire and lightning, scorching Kleestad’s flank. Then, Kleestad unhinged his jaw, opening it hugely and vomited forth a great gout of black, acidic blood. It burned all whom it touched, and caused their stomachs to seize and clench. Raelak fought the nausea that gripped him and loosed his arrows into Kleestad’s bloated flesh. Finally, a rippling lance of pure sound spiraled from Katarina’s hand and tore through the goliath’s skull. Slowly, Kleestad sank back into the depths, his soul at last free to face Zon-Kuthon’s judgment.
__________________________________________________ ______
Herc knelt before Serithtial, her voice echoing in his mind.
‘Do you know me?’ she asked.
“I do not,” the warrior replied, “but I wish to learn.”
‘Before you may know me, noble one,’ Serithtial replied, ‘you must learn the ways of my mistress. Will you pledge yourself to Iomedae?’
“I will,” Herc nodded. He turned to Michael, and the priest instinctively knew what the mercenary asked of him.
“I bless and consecrate you in Iomedae’s name,” he said as he laid his hands upon Herc’s shoulders.
Herc then reached out and grasped Serithtial.
‘Now pledge yourself to me,’ the sword said. ‘Do you swear to spend your remaining days dedicated to the defeat of Zon-Kuthon, and all those who serve him?’
“This I swear!” Herc said. Then he rose, and drew the sword from the stone, holding it high above his head like a beacon of Heaven itself.
__________________ "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!"
(What was that spell - the incorporeal - corporeal one? Handy!)
__________________ 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
(What was that spell - the incorporeal - corporeal one? Handy!)
Ghost Trap...
__________________ "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!"
Ghost Trap...I had already forgotten about that one.
Great job everybody - was this all in one session?
Yep...all in one. Next update's a long one too.
BTW, we completed CotCT last night in a marathon session that wrapped up around midnight. All in all, a very enjoyable AP for everyone I think, with a truly epic climax involving not one, not two, but three angels!!
__________________ "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!"
Is that like birdies in golf, but using PCs as the balls?
__________________ The Warlock
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How many mysteries? 1001...
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Unite Against Stupidity...Chipper Shredders for a Better Tomorrow - Where Euthenasia and Recycling Meet http://www.cafepress.com/csfabt
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Friends Lists: No, thank you. If you are my friend, I know it and you know it. I don't feel the need to have a codified list of the people I know.
BTW, we completed CotCT last night in a marathon session that wrapped up around midnight. All in all, a very enjoyable AP for everyone I think, with a truly epic climax involving not one, not two, but three angels!!
Cool, cna't wait to see what's next. Congrat's all around on the completion of yet another AP.
__________________ 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
Here's a little news flash/teaser for all of our readers as well: with the beginning of our next AP SH, Council of Thieves, we will be creating our own website. Here, I will be posting updates. There will also be player bios, out of game commentary, pictures, possibly some video/audio inclusions, and much more!!
__________________ "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!"
__________________ 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
Linear Mode
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