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[5E] The Age of Worms - Solid Snake's Campaign
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<blockquote data-quote="SolidSnake_01" data-source="post: 7504068" data-attributes="member: 63254"><p><strong>Journal of Jordan Cranden II - Entry I</strong></p><p></p><p>How can I explain what it feels like to know that you might find answers. How can I communicate the passion, the rage, and at the same time, the hollowness and the trepidation. After centuries of searching, perhaps I have finally reached the point of lucidity.</p><p></p><p>Fate...such a cruel mistress.</p><p></p><p>I had made contact with Elgios a while back. He was a wizard of some repute - learned, scholarly, and powerful, if a tad young. But then, my frame of reference is an unfair lens. Elgios was just the sort of man that might be able to help me.</p><p></p><p>Of course, he needed to be alive to do that. His untimely death robbed the both of us. Inconvenient as it was, this temporary hurdle was just that. I could not escape the conclusion that the timing of his end could very possibly be connected to recent events - especially if his investigation led where it very well might.</p><p></p><p>I was unsuccessful in convincing the constable to share his evidence but one of the soldiers had let slip that Elgios’s last known contact was with a man named Treig. Perhaps I was out of practice - normally such a trivial clue was merely the first among many ‘secrets’ I could elicit. Alas, at least I was able to locate the contact. Apparently he was the owner of a hostel in the Slums, The Fox & The Hound.</p><p></p><p>Normally I’d send a messenger. Why didn’t I just send a messenger? I know why. But I try to suppress it, deny it, deny its hold over me. She was my love, my drug, my addiction. I could not leave this to a mere messenger.</p><p></p><p>Two men, a human and a half orc, waited in the antechamber when I arrived. No one was at the counter. The two seemed to be holding a private conversation. I rang the bell on the front desk. I really was addicted - me waiting for...just waiting in the first place. The half-orc eventually broke his conversation with the human and walked around. I was anxious but could suppress the sense of urgency easily enough - after all, what’s minutes compared to centuries.</p><p></p><p>In rough speech typical of the orcish accent: “Need a room?”</p><p></p><p>“Actually I’m looking for the owner of this establishment. I was told to ask for Treig.”</p><p></p><p>Again with the guttural accent: “He’s indisposed at the moment.”</p><p></p><p>I felt like expressing my annoyance in Infernal to really nail the point home...maybe with my sword through this creature’s thick skull. But then, of course, Treig would never get my message, or at least not the one I intended.</p><p></p><p>A constant reminder: I was not that man from long ago. People no longer jumped for me. I suppose this is what I wanted though. More honest...if utterly obnoxious.</p><p></p><p>“Please pass along a message.” </p><p></p><p>I left a few copper and my token, an iron disc intentionally rusted with the image of a burning sun with a broken crown, the crown polished smooth and black. My take on both the kingdom of Aerdy as well as the Knights of the Order. Not many of today’s day and age would pick up on the reference.</p><p></p><p>I turned to leave and noticed scratching at the door. There were strays in the area. I didn’t pay it much mind. With the undead plague set off in the Arena not but a day ago, undead were a possibility, but there should have been cries of alarm if that were the case. Besides, undead, were the least of my worries.</p><p></p><p>I didn’t have time for distractions, I had to establish Elgios’s other potential contacts and who else knew of these Worms. Who or what summoned them in the first place? That they were related to the illness Natasha and I contracted was incontrovertible. Yet there were also differences. By all reports, the transitions that took months for us were taking but minutes for the poor citizens of Greyhawk. I’m not one for sentiment, but I know. Oh how I know.</p><p></p><p>I pushed through the door designated for ingress not blocked by whatever canine was wasting its time at this shack and...</p><p></p><p>Well, there’s no other way to put this. I was blasted in the face with an orb of tar. Ok, the legs, but the face really does have a more dramatic flare. The material was stickier than a devil’s web of lies.</p><p></p><p>In the interest of full disclosure, it took profound effort to not summon Beherit, teleport to the sniveling mage, and end his very existence. But to draw that kind of attention, in the middle of the free city no less...hell, I’d have every inquisitor hunting me from here to the Golden Sea - I don’t mean to invoke the Nine Hells...who am I kidding, yes I do.</p><p></p><p>Then I noticed the dog. Not really a dog actually, a shadow mastiff. I had only heard of such creatures. It was barring the other door. Intelligent bugger. So this ‘trap’ - was this meant for me? It was almost comical.</p><p></p><p>But no. The other man in the antechamber. Quicker than thought he had engaged the mage and completely incapacitated him. He had the skills of an assassin, one that could go where most men couldn’t. This man was a killer. You might say I felt an instant kinship with him - someone who dismissed the fictions so many cling to.</p><p></p><p>But then the dog attacked. Without thought, I summoned the chains of Mephistopheles. Why? Clearly this man believed the mage and his mutt weren’t after me, but him. I owed this man nothing. Was it all for an answer? Was it that old knight in me, buried so long ago. Was it curiosity? Maybe it was pure vindictiveness. I cannot say.</p><p></p><p>The chains impaled the beast and ripped it away from the man. I summoned more. Out from hell they erupted, constricting the beast, pinning it, suffocating it. That sick pleasure washed over me. Sometimes it was hard to know where Beherit began and I ended. I could feel his will, urging me to summon him. I could feel his hunger, to feast on yet another soul. How many had he consumed over the years...over the decades...over the centuries. Even resisting his influence it had to be hundreds. Inside this hostel, my exposure was thankfully limited. Rumors would spread, I knew. I had traveled this road before. No good deed goes unpunished after all. But I could stifle this.</p><p></p><p>But then a third party showed. He was the one who summoned utter darkness. Not before a slight nod to me, though. Perhaps he could feel the strength of the one who owned me. Perhaps not. The shadow mastiff evaporated and all three were gone by the time the tar lost its adhesiveness and I left the darkness.</p><p></p><p>The man with the eye patch was indeed the owner - this Treig character. He was forthcoming enough. He’d briefly met with Elgios. He was vague with the details but I hadn’t expected much to begin with. The fact that he had such skill made him somewhat interesting to me. I offered him my protection for information. Honestly I didn’t think he much needed protection, but I could legitimately aid him, even if it was just with resources. Surprisingly, he agreed without bargaining or interrogation. He ignored my chains - in every sense of that word. I ignored his techniques. He explained that he had a delivery to make to Diamond Lake and a mage there would likely have additional information. That nugget alone was worth all my efforts - all my efforts and then some. I escorted him to my residence and after arranging my carriage and supplies for the two of us, we were off. It was night but I intended to waste no time.</p><p></p><p>For a man of his caliber, he was pleasantly conversive. I knew better than to pry and subtlety steered the conversation to more neutral topics. Treig was a student of history- at least in so far as history was related to violent conflicts. Of course, violent conflict pretty much defines history, so we were like a couple of old friends at a reunion. I had to be careful with the degree of intimate knowledge I shared with this man. What impressed me - even more than his skills as an assassin - was his ability to intuit motive from the history of war. Treig indeed knew the way the world really worked.</p><p></p><p>On the fourth day of our trip, our conversation was quite rudely interrupted. The driver was clearly terrified by the way he called for me and the fact that he halted the coach in spite of my instruction.</p><p></p><p>A wraith-like fiend hovered in front of the path just beyond the coach with its palm outstretched in clear instruction. Was this a messenger? I couldn’t ignore this. It may be related to Treig and his delivery, but the extraplanar - albeit outerplanar - character of this entity made me question.</p><p></p><p>“What do you want?” I asked in quite impolite Infernal.</p><p></p><p>It didn’t respond. I waited for a moment, then asked again. My investigative mind itched- was this magic? An illusion perhaps? I backed up while not breaking eye contact with whatever this was. I instructed the coach to back the carriage up, turn it around, and flee figuring the footman would toss my bag out as they fled. Whether this turned violent or not - whether because a minion would make a demand or this was an elaborate trap, there was no reason to involve the servants. Besides, the fewer witnesses the better - I’d prefer not to eliminate innocent bystanders.</p><p></p><p>Again, Treig proved his skill. He had lit up a cigar from the stash he had stowed and upon blowing the embers they expanded into a cloud of golden dust which proceeded to outline an invisible creature atop the carriage. Useful that. Faster than I could blink he had flipped atop the roof and fired off several bolts from a concealed crossbow at the figure. A Suelese man materialized - unconscious- and crashed to the ground below. At virtually the same moment I heard harmonic chanting from the nearby treeline and a group of three women appeared. But these were no ordinary spellcasters. These were Yuen’s witches! I knew of the Suel Prince. It had been many years since I last visited Suel, but I kept tabs on their royal line - they had much tighter control over their kingdom than did my own ancestors over Aerdy. I actually rather admired the emperor. But his progeny were all political intrigue vying for their father’s mein. Too reminiscent of the Rauxes. The witches - and their identity could not be doubted, were marked, each lacking a means of communication. One had no eyes, one no ears, and one no tongue. They had runed bandages masking their mutilation but Yuen’s signature was overtly obvious. They acted as one - each member performing a different component of the spell. At first they attempted to muddle our minds. Failing that they robbed me of my vision. No matter. I could feel their taint.</p><p></p><p>Their pet giant was another matter.</p><p></p><p>In perfect Suelese, I threatened: “Go back to Yuen and tell the sniveling prince that he has no dominion here. Tell him his prey was elusive. If you do not, you will all die.” </p><p></p><p>I hadn’t realized it, but the last bit I had unintentionally said in Infernal. Regardless, they seemed to understand but dismiss the threat.</p><p></p><p>The servants had not yet fled - it was slow and difficult to reverse a carriage. But between the witches, the giant, and whatever it was that Treig was engaged with, I could not afford to remain unprotected for any longer. I summoned...the Devil.</p><p></p><p>As part of my pact, I was ‘gifted’ a shield, a suit of armor, and Beherit. When I summon the Devil, metallic chains doused in brimstone erupt from the depths of the Nine Hells and bond to me. They articulate and interconnect forming my armor and shield. Then Beherit appears. No appears is the wrong word. It’s as if he is drawn from a mortal wound in reality itself. The whole process is itself is an act of violence.</p><p></p><p>I was the Devil.</p><p></p><p>I reiterated to the driver to leave now. That mercy would have consequences. No good deed goes unpunished. My determination, my will, my rage - I unleashed them like a wave. I called upon the foul power that now fueled me. The fear and despair were so great that the giant stopped in his tracks. The witches seemed unaffected. Of course! I should have anticipated that Yuen’s concubines would have experienced a fate at least akin to my own. Fear had no hold over the likes of us - who laughed at such frivolities.</p><p></p><p>The blindness proved troublesome. Even in the giant’s fear, it was still able to easily grab me and launch me into my own fleeing carriage. First my clothes. Now my carriage. With a grin only the sadistic could sprout, I exited the ruins of my carriage’s cabin. I had not enjoyed killing for a very long time. I would enjoy feeding Beherit this day. Beherit thirsted. It needed.</p><p></p><p>But Yuen’s squad opted for retreat. The hovering witches were atop a flying carpet. The giant and the man Treig had been handling all jumped aboard and the squad flew away at top speed. I only caught sight of them as they crested the treeline. Then they were gone.</p><p></p><p>I looked over at Treig. He seemed uninjured. My armor had largely protected me. The carriage was gone, but I had called my steed a few days ago and mentally instructed it to make its presence known. We were about to enter a more heavily wooded area and Treig wished to scout ahead. So instead of my protection, I was now in this man's debt - twice over. I was intent on banishing my equipment but Beherit had other ideas. He had felt the murder in me. With much effort I was finally able to dismiss him. He didn’t like it.</p><p></p><p>We made camp for the night deep into the wooded terrain. I asked Treig about Suel, but he was vague again. There was something about the whole thing that felt wrong. Was this group connected to the first? I assumed they were after Treig, but maybe not. The witches... Natasha was a witch. Was there some connection? It seemed odd after all these years. And from Suel no less. While I knew of Yuen, I highly doubted he knew anything of me - or would even care to know in the first place. But that just made the whole encounter that much more bizarre. And then, they fled. We were outnumbered and they had the upper hand. Why? Why would they flee.</p><p></p><p>These were my thoughts when we ran into a farmer, driving a cart of junk down the road. I caught sight of what appeared to be a scorched - or, no, a decayed? - sign post. I asked the peasant about Diamond Lake and he explained the town had recently been attacked...by a black dragon!</p><p></p><p>After years of boredom, death, mayhem, and destruction, in only a matter of days, I somehow appeared to be getting closer to the middle of it all. My cynicism grew: </p><p></p><p>“What about Allustan,” I inquired.</p><p></p><p>The peasant droned on about the mage’s heroism and then actually answered me: dead. I’d normally be more eloquent, but only one word could come to me: </p><p></p><p>“F**k,” I heard myself say - and not even in Infernal.</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="SolidSnake_01, post: 7504068, member: 63254"] [b]Journal of Jordan Cranden II - Entry I[/b] How can I explain what it feels like to know that you might find answers. How can I communicate the passion, the rage, and at the same time, the hollowness and the trepidation. After centuries of searching, perhaps I have finally reached the point of lucidity. Fate...such a cruel mistress. I had made contact with Elgios a while back. He was a wizard of some repute - learned, scholarly, and powerful, if a tad young. But then, my frame of reference is an unfair lens. Elgios was just the sort of man that might be able to help me. Of course, he needed to be alive to do that. His untimely death robbed the both of us. Inconvenient as it was, this temporary hurdle was just that. I could not escape the conclusion that the timing of his end could very possibly be connected to recent events - especially if his investigation led where it very well might. I was unsuccessful in convincing the constable to share his evidence but one of the soldiers had let slip that Elgios’s last known contact was with a man named Treig. Perhaps I was out of practice - normally such a trivial clue was merely the first among many ‘secrets’ I could elicit. Alas, at least I was able to locate the contact. Apparently he was the owner of a hostel in the Slums, The Fox & The Hound. Normally I’d send a messenger. Why didn’t I just send a messenger? I know why. But I try to suppress it, deny it, deny its hold over me. She was my love, my drug, my addiction. I could not leave this to a mere messenger. Two men, a human and a half orc, waited in the antechamber when I arrived. No one was at the counter. The two seemed to be holding a private conversation. I rang the bell on the front desk. I really was addicted - me waiting for...just waiting in the first place. The half-orc eventually broke his conversation with the human and walked around. I was anxious but could suppress the sense of urgency easily enough - after all, what’s minutes compared to centuries. In rough speech typical of the orcish accent: “Need a room?” “Actually I’m looking for the owner of this establishment. I was told to ask for Treig.” Again with the guttural accent: “He’s indisposed at the moment.” I felt like expressing my annoyance in Infernal to really nail the point home...maybe with my sword through this creature’s thick skull. But then, of course, Treig would never get my message, or at least not the one I intended. A constant reminder: I was not that man from long ago. People no longer jumped for me. I suppose this is what I wanted though. More honest...if utterly obnoxious. “Please pass along a message.” I left a few copper and my token, an iron disc intentionally rusted with the image of a burning sun with a broken crown, the crown polished smooth and black. My take on both the kingdom of Aerdy as well as the Knights of the Order. Not many of today’s day and age would pick up on the reference. I turned to leave and noticed scratching at the door. There were strays in the area. I didn’t pay it much mind. With the undead plague set off in the Arena not but a day ago, undead were a possibility, but there should have been cries of alarm if that were the case. Besides, undead, were the least of my worries. I didn’t have time for distractions, I had to establish Elgios’s other potential contacts and who else knew of these Worms. Who or what summoned them in the first place? That they were related to the illness Natasha and I contracted was incontrovertible. Yet there were also differences. By all reports, the transitions that took months for us were taking but minutes for the poor citizens of Greyhawk. I’m not one for sentiment, but I know. Oh how I know. I pushed through the door designated for ingress not blocked by whatever canine was wasting its time at this shack and... Well, there’s no other way to put this. I was blasted in the face with an orb of tar. Ok, the legs, but the face really does have a more dramatic flare. The material was stickier than a devil’s web of lies. In the interest of full disclosure, it took profound effort to not summon Beherit, teleport to the sniveling mage, and end his very existence. But to draw that kind of attention, in the middle of the free city no less...hell, I’d have every inquisitor hunting me from here to the Golden Sea - I don’t mean to invoke the Nine Hells...who am I kidding, yes I do. Then I noticed the dog. Not really a dog actually, a shadow mastiff. I had only heard of such creatures. It was barring the other door. Intelligent bugger. So this ‘trap’ - was this meant for me? It was almost comical. But no. The other man in the antechamber. Quicker than thought he had engaged the mage and completely incapacitated him. He had the skills of an assassin, one that could go where most men couldn’t. This man was a killer. You might say I felt an instant kinship with him - someone who dismissed the fictions so many cling to. But then the dog attacked. Without thought, I summoned the chains of Mephistopheles. Why? Clearly this man believed the mage and his mutt weren’t after me, but him. I owed this man nothing. Was it all for an answer? Was it that old knight in me, buried so long ago. Was it curiosity? Maybe it was pure vindictiveness. I cannot say. The chains impaled the beast and ripped it away from the man. I summoned more. Out from hell they erupted, constricting the beast, pinning it, suffocating it. That sick pleasure washed over me. Sometimes it was hard to know where Beherit began and I ended. I could feel his will, urging me to summon him. I could feel his hunger, to feast on yet another soul. How many had he consumed over the years...over the decades...over the centuries. Even resisting his influence it had to be hundreds. Inside this hostel, my exposure was thankfully limited. Rumors would spread, I knew. I had traveled this road before. No good deed goes unpunished after all. But I could stifle this. But then a third party showed. He was the one who summoned utter darkness. Not before a slight nod to me, though. Perhaps he could feel the strength of the one who owned me. Perhaps not. The shadow mastiff evaporated and all three were gone by the time the tar lost its adhesiveness and I left the darkness. The man with the eye patch was indeed the owner - this Treig character. He was forthcoming enough. He’d briefly met with Elgios. He was vague with the details but I hadn’t expected much to begin with. The fact that he had such skill made him somewhat interesting to me. I offered him my protection for information. Honestly I didn’t think he much needed protection, but I could legitimately aid him, even if it was just with resources. Surprisingly, he agreed without bargaining or interrogation. He ignored my chains - in every sense of that word. I ignored his techniques. He explained that he had a delivery to make to Diamond Lake and a mage there would likely have additional information. That nugget alone was worth all my efforts - all my efforts and then some. I escorted him to my residence and after arranging my carriage and supplies for the two of us, we were off. It was night but I intended to waste no time. For a man of his caliber, he was pleasantly conversive. I knew better than to pry and subtlety steered the conversation to more neutral topics. Treig was a student of history- at least in so far as history was related to violent conflicts. Of course, violent conflict pretty much defines history, so we were like a couple of old friends at a reunion. I had to be careful with the degree of intimate knowledge I shared with this man. What impressed me - even more than his skills as an assassin - was his ability to intuit motive from the history of war. Treig indeed knew the way the world really worked. On the fourth day of our trip, our conversation was quite rudely interrupted. The driver was clearly terrified by the way he called for me and the fact that he halted the coach in spite of my instruction. A wraith-like fiend hovered in front of the path just beyond the coach with its palm outstretched in clear instruction. Was this a messenger? I couldn’t ignore this. It may be related to Treig and his delivery, but the extraplanar - albeit outerplanar - character of this entity made me question. “What do you want?” I asked in quite impolite Infernal. It didn’t respond. I waited for a moment, then asked again. My investigative mind itched- was this magic? An illusion perhaps? I backed up while not breaking eye contact with whatever this was. I instructed the coach to back the carriage up, turn it around, and flee figuring the footman would toss my bag out as they fled. Whether this turned violent or not - whether because a minion would make a demand or this was an elaborate trap, there was no reason to involve the servants. Besides, the fewer witnesses the better - I’d prefer not to eliminate innocent bystanders. Again, Treig proved his skill. He had lit up a cigar from the stash he had stowed and upon blowing the embers they expanded into a cloud of golden dust which proceeded to outline an invisible creature atop the carriage. Useful that. Faster than I could blink he had flipped atop the roof and fired off several bolts from a concealed crossbow at the figure. A Suelese man materialized - unconscious- and crashed to the ground below. At virtually the same moment I heard harmonic chanting from the nearby treeline and a group of three women appeared. But these were no ordinary spellcasters. These were Yuen’s witches! I knew of the Suel Prince. It had been many years since I last visited Suel, but I kept tabs on their royal line - they had much tighter control over their kingdom than did my own ancestors over Aerdy. I actually rather admired the emperor. But his progeny were all political intrigue vying for their father’s mein. Too reminiscent of the Rauxes. The witches - and their identity could not be doubted, were marked, each lacking a means of communication. One had no eyes, one no ears, and one no tongue. They had runed bandages masking their mutilation but Yuen’s signature was overtly obvious. They acted as one - each member performing a different component of the spell. At first they attempted to muddle our minds. Failing that they robbed me of my vision. No matter. I could feel their taint. Their pet giant was another matter. In perfect Suelese, I threatened: “Go back to Yuen and tell the sniveling prince that he has no dominion here. Tell him his prey was elusive. If you do not, you will all die.” I hadn’t realized it, but the last bit I had unintentionally said in Infernal. Regardless, they seemed to understand but dismiss the threat. The servants had not yet fled - it was slow and difficult to reverse a carriage. But between the witches, the giant, and whatever it was that Treig was engaged with, I could not afford to remain unprotected for any longer. I summoned...the Devil. As part of my pact, I was ‘gifted’ a shield, a suit of armor, and Beherit. When I summon the Devil, metallic chains doused in brimstone erupt from the depths of the Nine Hells and bond to me. They articulate and interconnect forming my armor and shield. Then Beherit appears. No appears is the wrong word. It’s as if he is drawn from a mortal wound in reality itself. The whole process is itself is an act of violence. I was the Devil. I reiterated to the driver to leave now. That mercy would have consequences. No good deed goes unpunished. My determination, my will, my rage - I unleashed them like a wave. I called upon the foul power that now fueled me. The fear and despair were so great that the giant stopped in his tracks. The witches seemed unaffected. Of course! I should have anticipated that Yuen’s concubines would have experienced a fate at least akin to my own. Fear had no hold over the likes of us - who laughed at such frivolities. The blindness proved troublesome. Even in the giant’s fear, it was still able to easily grab me and launch me into my own fleeing carriage. First my clothes. Now my carriage. With a grin only the sadistic could sprout, I exited the ruins of my carriage’s cabin. I had not enjoyed killing for a very long time. I would enjoy feeding Beherit this day. Beherit thirsted. It needed. But Yuen’s squad opted for retreat. The hovering witches were atop a flying carpet. The giant and the man Treig had been handling all jumped aboard and the squad flew away at top speed. I only caught sight of them as they crested the treeline. Then they were gone. I looked over at Treig. He seemed uninjured. My armor had largely protected me. The carriage was gone, but I had called my steed a few days ago and mentally instructed it to make its presence known. We were about to enter a more heavily wooded area and Treig wished to scout ahead. So instead of my protection, I was now in this man's debt - twice over. I was intent on banishing my equipment but Beherit had other ideas. He had felt the murder in me. With much effort I was finally able to dismiss him. He didn’t like it. We made camp for the night deep into the wooded terrain. I asked Treig about Suel, but he was vague again. There was something about the whole thing that felt wrong. Was this group connected to the first? I assumed they were after Treig, but maybe not. The witches... Natasha was a witch. Was there some connection? It seemed odd after all these years. And from Suel no less. While I knew of Yuen, I highly doubted he knew anything of me - or would even care to know in the first place. But that just made the whole encounter that much more bizarre. And then, they fled. We were outnumbered and they had the upper hand. Why? Why would they flee. These were my thoughts when we ran into a farmer, driving a cart of junk down the road. I caught sight of what appeared to be a scorched - or, no, a decayed? - sign post. I asked the peasant about Diamond Lake and he explained the town had recently been attacked...by a black dragon! After years of boredom, death, mayhem, and destruction, in only a matter of days, I somehow appeared to be getting closer to the middle of it all. My cynicism grew: “What about Allustan,” I inquired. The peasant droned on about the mage’s heroism and then actually answered me: dead. I’d normally be more eloquent, but only one word could come to me: “F**k,” I heard myself say - and not even in Infernal. [/QUOTE]
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[5E] The Age of Worms - Solid Snake's Campaign
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