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Adventures in Eberron> Chapter 32 posted 08-08-05>
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<blockquote data-quote="skullsmurfer" data-source="post: 2346816" data-attributes="member: 17151"><p><strong>The Underground, Chapter 10</strong></p><p></p><p>The crowd rose up and cheered. The gladiators in the pit growled and charged at one another. The troll has the advantage, but the hobgoblin is the crowd favorite. The fight is on and after the bets, the blood lust drives the crowd. Moro Taller sank deep into his cloak. He is terrified, but the fight is strangely fascinating. The changelings are guarding his private spectator box and the war-forged named Paragon promised him that his wife will join him soon. The Private Inquisitive he hired is everything he hoped for. His assistant Theodyl has been very helpful. He's always liked bards.</p><p></p><p> The troll is bashing on the hobgoblin non-stop. Moro Taller moved to the edge of his seat and screamed. The hobgoblin smashed his spiked shield into the troll's face and lopped off a chunk of the monster's ear. The troll ripped the shield from his opponent's arm and sent it flying out onto the audience. The hobgoblin chopped into the troll's thigh and ran to the wall. Moro stood on his chair and whooped. The hobgoblin is no coward, he grabbed a torch with his shield hand. Fire and trolls don't mix. The troll is nearly recovered from his wounds, the hobgoblin is waiting. The fight is getting much better. The gnome is having the time of his life. He is holding on to his betting slips and waving them with every ounce of his scared little being. That hobgoblin better win. The odds would make him rich. </p><p> </p><p> Far below the arena, Theodyl waited patiently within the catacombs. He would rather have Paragon to keep him company, but neither of them deals well with undead. Karrnath left a lot of scars in their minds. Theodyl took a moment to reinforce his will and take a firm hold of his emotions. He can't hear anything, but he can feel magic flowing near by. The necromancer approaches.</p><p> </p><p> “Well, well, well, I see you have returned. How long has it been, ten, twenty years? I can't tell anymore!” The floating skull of Mooneye the Necromancer drifted towards Theodyl. “I heard rumors that you were sitting in a dungeon. In fact, I happen to have seen you in that very dungeon just a few hours ago. Very tricky, I decided to see to you personally. I like tricks.” </p><p> </p><p> “I am pleased to see you are well.” Theodyl spoke as he placed one hand over his heart and bowed. Pigs on wings! There will be no tricks around the lich, not ever. “I have brought you a gift, though, I doubt anything would impress one such as yourself.”</p><p> </p><p> “Let me see...” the lich whispered as the heavy lead lined box cracked open and its contents lifted up towards the floating skull. “My former master's phylactery! Hahahahahaha!”</p><p></p><p> The phylactery lit up with a menacing red light. Theodyl took a step back and readied a scroll. The necromancer was much faster, though, a painfully twisting spell struck the dangerous relic. The phylactery lost it's glow as the undead spirit within was entrapped once more. Mooneye the Necromancer was more than pleased. It laughed hideously and flitted about while six pairs of disembodied arms escorted Theodyl and carried his bags. The half-elf smiled, Paragon would have gotten them both killed. The underground Bazaar has an elite clientèle and the rules are very strict. A mistake now will be his last. </p><p></p><p> “So, Theodyl, where did you get it?” The lich asked.</p><p></p><p> “The Scribe's Guild Library, it caught fire. I was trying to rescue a few valuable items when my associate ran into it. He thought the box was full of gold.” Theodyl answered carefully. The absolute truth is Paragon had wanted to crush it. The knowledge that he would be releasing a lich in a sewer full of anonymous bones, was the only thing that stopped the war-forged.</p><p></p><p> “House Sivis had my very worst enemy in storage? Very well labeled, no doubt. Ha! I sold him to a very enterprising devil years ago. I am not too surprised. Sooner or later the gnomes get their hands on everything and endeavor to file it properly. I used to be one, you know.” The blazing red pinpricks in Mooneye's sockets winked. “You have earned yourself free passage for life, do not disappoint me.”</p><p></p><p> The lich laughed, rolling it's skull in the air. A golden coin pierced by a purplish black stone appeared just in front of Theodyl. He caught it deftly and slipped it into his belt. As long as he keeps it in his person, the guardians of the catacomb are not allowed to eat him or molest him in any other fashion. The for life part is a joke and a threat. Mooneye has a lethal sense of humor. Theodyl took it in stride, if he took every threat to his life seriously he would go mad.</p><p> </p><p> The lich led him through a crowded underground market place to a large tent that seemed to ripple under a non-existent wind. When he got close enough, he realized that the tent was stitched together from cured humanoid skins. They are animated, their low moaning made him queasy, but Theodyl showed no weakness. Mooneye watched him closely.</p><p></p><p> “Find a seat, Theodyl,” the lich said as they entered the gruesome construct. The floating arms all gestured towards a comfortable pile of cushions, “I want to make you into a return customer.” </p><p></p><p> The skull hovered over to a large throne-like sculpture made of bones and golden wire. A small, headless rune carved skeleton stood up and the lich skull made itself comfortable upon its neck. Theodyl marked the anatomy of a gnomish skeleton. A snaky mass of cloth and jewelery leaped onto the skeleton and arranged itself into a fashionable, if macabre ensemble. Mooneye the Necromancer has a sense of style that even undeath couldn't take away. The transformation from floating skull to well-dressed skeleton made him, somehow, more approachable. Theodyl smiled, he appreciates style.</p><p></p><p> “Now, tell me what I can do for you.” Mooneye commanded as he sat upon his throne and crossed his legs. The Bazaar is a wonder in itself, but Mooneye offers services beyond the norm.</p><p> </p><p> “I need to speak to my former master, but first I need to know where he died.”</p><p></p><p> “Oh Really? Why? Sounds expensive, dear boy, very expensive. Do you have a sample or a prized heirloom? Did he like you? There are risks. Dead wizards can be err, rather emotional, you know?”</p><p></p><p> “He raised me like a son. I want to know who killed him so that I might balance the scales.”</p><p></p><p> “Vengeance, passion, and mayhem! I knew that letting you live would be a good idea.” Mooneye chortled then grew suddenly serious. “You killed my apprentice in the sewers the other day. He wandered away from his chores, not very wise.”</p><p></p><p> “Who...?” Theodyl tried to ask. The image of the fat goblin with clawed hands and horns on it's head came to mind. He is guilty.</p><p></p><p> “Don't worry about that now, have something to eat, then we will talk price.”</p><p></p><p> A table stalked over to Theodyl's seat. He often likes to shake up a client in order to gain the upper hand in a negotiation. The lich has just fed him his own medicine and Theodyl is going to have to take it. Mooneye is sitting on a throne, it makes sense that he will want to establish the pecking order at the beginning of a transaction. The table is overkill, though. It is piled with body parts and a pitcher of what could only be blood wine. The half-elf caught the scent of raw, but relatively fresh meat. The table's bony legs clicked and clacked together as it settled before him. </p><p> </p><p> The necromancer spoke a magical phrase and the contents of the table rearranged themselves into a veritable feast. Flesh to Provender, the spell that got Mooneye expelled from Morgrave University and drove Sharn City Council to draft the Statutes of Magic and Morality. Theodyl felt his blood turn to ice. A Sharn City Watchman wouldn't eat human flesh, neither would any of the church types. The hold on his emotions is starting to slip, but he concentrated on his goal. The flesh is gone, spent to feed the magic which creates the food. Theodyl held on that idea and strove to believe it as the truth. He reached out, poured a goblet of dark red wine and then filled his plate. Vengeance, passion, and mayhem, indeed! He ate under the watchful eye of the lich.</p><p> </p><p> Fate tested him as he stood and breathed the smoke rising from the whorehouse that had sheltered him and his mother. The streets tested him when he made his home in the rat infested alleys. He was tested again when Stargazer found him and then again when he was sent out into the world. The war almost broke him, but he survived. The war tribunal put a black hood over his head and he came away with his life. Mooneye's test is nothing compared to what he has lived. Theodyl smiled and made proper thanks to his host. He wonders if he would be able to face his long dead mother as he is now. The plate is empty. He took a sip of wine and waited for his host to begin negotiations.</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="skullsmurfer, post: 2346816, member: 17151"] [b]The Underground, Chapter 10[/b] The crowd rose up and cheered. The gladiators in the pit growled and charged at one another. The troll has the advantage, but the hobgoblin is the crowd favorite. The fight is on and after the bets, the blood lust drives the crowd. Moro Taller sank deep into his cloak. He is terrified, but the fight is strangely fascinating. The changelings are guarding his private spectator box and the war-forged named Paragon promised him that his wife will join him soon. The Private Inquisitive he hired is everything he hoped for. His assistant Theodyl has been very helpful. He's always liked bards. The troll is bashing on the hobgoblin non-stop. Moro Taller moved to the edge of his seat and screamed. The hobgoblin smashed his spiked shield into the troll's face and lopped off a chunk of the monster's ear. The troll ripped the shield from his opponent's arm and sent it flying out onto the audience. The hobgoblin chopped into the troll's thigh and ran to the wall. Moro stood on his chair and whooped. The hobgoblin is no coward, he grabbed a torch with his shield hand. Fire and trolls don't mix. The troll is nearly recovered from his wounds, the hobgoblin is waiting. The fight is getting much better. The gnome is having the time of his life. He is holding on to his betting slips and waving them with every ounce of his scared little being. That hobgoblin better win. The odds would make him rich. Far below the arena, Theodyl waited patiently within the catacombs. He would rather have Paragon to keep him company, but neither of them deals well with undead. Karrnath left a lot of scars in their minds. Theodyl took a moment to reinforce his will and take a firm hold of his emotions. He can't hear anything, but he can feel magic flowing near by. The necromancer approaches. “Well, well, well, I see you have returned. How long has it been, ten, twenty years? I can't tell anymore!” The floating skull of Mooneye the Necromancer drifted towards Theodyl. “I heard rumors that you were sitting in a dungeon. In fact, I happen to have seen you in that very dungeon just a few hours ago. Very tricky, I decided to see to you personally. I like tricks.” “I am pleased to see you are well.” Theodyl spoke as he placed one hand over his heart and bowed. Pigs on wings! There will be no tricks around the lich, not ever. “I have brought you a gift, though, I doubt anything would impress one such as yourself.” “Let me see...” the lich whispered as the heavy lead lined box cracked open and its contents lifted up towards the floating skull. “My former master's phylactery! Hahahahahaha!” The phylactery lit up with a menacing red light. Theodyl took a step back and readied a scroll. The necromancer was much faster, though, a painfully twisting spell struck the dangerous relic. The phylactery lost it's glow as the undead spirit within was entrapped once more. Mooneye the Necromancer was more than pleased. It laughed hideously and flitted about while six pairs of disembodied arms escorted Theodyl and carried his bags. The half-elf smiled, Paragon would have gotten them both killed. The underground Bazaar has an elite clientèle and the rules are very strict. A mistake now will be his last. “So, Theodyl, where did you get it?” The lich asked. “The Scribe's Guild Library, it caught fire. I was trying to rescue a few valuable items when my associate ran into it. He thought the box was full of gold.” Theodyl answered carefully. The absolute truth is Paragon had wanted to crush it. The knowledge that he would be releasing a lich in a sewer full of anonymous bones, was the only thing that stopped the war-forged. “House Sivis had my very worst enemy in storage? Very well labeled, no doubt. Ha! I sold him to a very enterprising devil years ago. I am not too surprised. Sooner or later the gnomes get their hands on everything and endeavor to file it properly. I used to be one, you know.” The blazing red pinpricks in Mooneye's sockets winked. “You have earned yourself free passage for life, do not disappoint me.” The lich laughed, rolling it's skull in the air. A golden coin pierced by a purplish black stone appeared just in front of Theodyl. He caught it deftly and slipped it into his belt. As long as he keeps it in his person, the guardians of the catacomb are not allowed to eat him or molest him in any other fashion. The for life part is a joke and a threat. Mooneye has a lethal sense of humor. Theodyl took it in stride, if he took every threat to his life seriously he would go mad. The lich led him through a crowded underground market place to a large tent that seemed to ripple under a non-existent wind. When he got close enough, he realized that the tent was stitched together from cured humanoid skins. They are animated, their low moaning made him queasy, but Theodyl showed no weakness. Mooneye watched him closely. “Find a seat, Theodyl,” the lich said as they entered the gruesome construct. The floating arms all gestured towards a comfortable pile of cushions, “I want to make you into a return customer.” The skull hovered over to a large throne-like sculpture made of bones and golden wire. A small, headless rune carved skeleton stood up and the lich skull made itself comfortable upon its neck. Theodyl marked the anatomy of a gnomish skeleton. A snaky mass of cloth and jewelery leaped onto the skeleton and arranged itself into a fashionable, if macabre ensemble. Mooneye the Necromancer has a sense of style that even undeath couldn't take away. The transformation from floating skull to well-dressed skeleton made him, somehow, more approachable. Theodyl smiled, he appreciates style. “Now, tell me what I can do for you.” Mooneye commanded as he sat upon his throne and crossed his legs. The Bazaar is a wonder in itself, but Mooneye offers services beyond the norm. “I need to speak to my former master, but first I need to know where he died.” “Oh Really? Why? Sounds expensive, dear boy, very expensive. Do you have a sample or a prized heirloom? Did he like you? There are risks. Dead wizards can be err, rather emotional, you know?” “He raised me like a son. I want to know who killed him so that I might balance the scales.” “Vengeance, passion, and mayhem! I knew that letting you live would be a good idea.” Mooneye chortled then grew suddenly serious. “You killed my apprentice in the sewers the other day. He wandered away from his chores, not very wise.” “Who...?” Theodyl tried to ask. The image of the fat goblin with clawed hands and horns on it's head came to mind. He is guilty. “Don't worry about that now, have something to eat, then we will talk price.” A table stalked over to Theodyl's seat. He often likes to shake up a client in order to gain the upper hand in a negotiation. The lich has just fed him his own medicine and Theodyl is going to have to take it. Mooneye is sitting on a throne, it makes sense that he will want to establish the pecking order at the beginning of a transaction. The table is overkill, though. It is piled with body parts and a pitcher of what could only be blood wine. The half-elf caught the scent of raw, but relatively fresh meat. The table's bony legs clicked and clacked together as it settled before him. The necromancer spoke a magical phrase and the contents of the table rearranged themselves into a veritable feast. Flesh to Provender, the spell that got Mooneye expelled from Morgrave University and drove Sharn City Council to draft the Statutes of Magic and Morality. Theodyl felt his blood turn to ice. A Sharn City Watchman wouldn't eat human flesh, neither would any of the church types. The hold on his emotions is starting to slip, but he concentrated on his goal. The flesh is gone, spent to feed the magic which creates the food. Theodyl held on that idea and strove to believe it as the truth. He reached out, poured a goblet of dark red wine and then filled his plate. Vengeance, passion, and mayhem, indeed! He ate under the watchful eye of the lich. Fate tested him as he stood and breathed the smoke rising from the whorehouse that had sheltered him and his mother. The streets tested him when he made his home in the rat infested alleys. He was tested again when Stargazer found him and then again when he was sent out into the world. The war almost broke him, but he survived. The war tribunal put a black hood over his head and he came away with his life. Mooneye's test is nothing compared to what he has lived. Theodyl smiled and made proper thanks to his host. He wonders if he would be able to face his long dead mother as he is now. The plate is empty. He took a sip of wine and waited for his host to begin negotiations. [/QUOTE]
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