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Carnifex's SH - Updated July 24th, Light and Questions
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- Start date
Carnifex
First Post
Turning smoothly up from the floor Sebastion cast a quick glance around at the others, seeing the same looks of slight fear and worry on their faces, generally, that he felt himself. No-one moved for a moment, so he stepped forward, all traces of his previous ineptitude lost. He spoke with quiet authority.
"Ebri, Mel, help Johanne. Wyshira, gather up the rest of the mages and start them moving. Ebri, you lead them up, make sure the way's clear. Cazamir, Kale and I will follow you up when there's space. Master... Gaethras, was it? You're welcome to join us covering the rear, if you wish?" He tried to keep out of his voice how likely he felt it to be that the offer would be accepted - he had to offer, though.
Melisande's glowing beacon of ignorance, as Gaethras put it, shone midnight blue as she gathered her robe and stepped cautiously among the rivulets of assorted bodily seepage, keeping her head down to hide the azure glare of her humiliation.
Yet, as she went toward Meg'anna with a healing potion in hand, some of the tension in her shoulders eased. It didn't matter now what Gaethras thought--or what anyone thought, for that matter, of her ruse. It may not have been brilliant, but her friends and her countrymen had not turned against one another. Now that they had fought side by side and now that the Carthagian ranks were badly depleted, it was unlikely they would choose further bloodshed. And that had been the whole point. Clumsily done, perhaps--but done.
She opened her mouth to say as much to Gaethras when the Arcanofex erupted.
As it spoke she watched the living machine, even while holding out the healing potion to Meg'anna in case Wyshira's attentions had not been sufficient.
The grinding, mechanical voice ended on a sinister note. All the deep blue blood still radiating in Mel's face suddenly drained out of it again.
"A devil," she murmured, eyes wide.
Although she moved quickly to obey Sebastion's instructions, she paused before reaching Johanne's side. If it were true that a real devil from the planes of hell were here, would not Naskha let her sense its abominable presence? Her head to one side, Melisande tried to probe through the walls and floor of the Tower around her, searching fearfully like for the source of a strange noise in the dark, afraid what her hand might land on but unable to resist the need to know.
A fiend... Ebri drew her kama forth, examining the blade briefly-- although what she was really checking for was that it remained silver. Although Karbal had said that Dreamweavers went in human guise, still, she had no idea what they were when they were not in human form. Perhaps devils?
She was not afraid for herself; only that she would fail somehow, and that her efforts would not be sufficient to save Melisande. The Great Prophet shaped all the ends of his Chosen; no doubt all such plans were integral to the Purpose. And although there were of course entities of great evil in the world, there were beings of great enlightenment as well-- the Old Masters, for instance. Even fiends are still part of the world's illusion--
"Let us go up, then--"she suggested, adding for Gaethras' benefit, "This too has been foreseen."
"Can you move?" Cazamir asked Johanne. "The construct says we should move with haste, and I would prefer your knowledge to just that of the manipulators." He looked at the man with concern, sparing occasional glances at Jarvis. Cazamir still did not know how the other sages fared. Perhaps it would be best just to get their charges out of this tower. No, he had been through too much just to let Gaethras and the others reap the benefit of their sacrifices. "If you cannot, then at least one of us should go hear what it's master has to say about this devil."
In the blue-tinted light of the upper chamber, Ebri's kama flashed silver still. The magics within the weapon did not seem to have detected the presence of a Dreamweaver nearby, at least for now. Even as the shadowclad woman examined her implement, the nearby Melisande found that her attempt to sense the presence of a dark evil or abomination gave her little information, except a faint stirring of disgust when her gaze lingered on the bloodsoaked corpses of the girallons. Indeed, the metal and stone structure of this place itself seemed to oppressively withstand letting her get any notion of what might lie beneath them in the bulk of the tower.
"I think I can move," Johanne said painfully as he shifted, before dragging himself to his feet, Jarvis quickly moving to support the mage. "Wouldn't miss this for the world."
The band cautiously moved through the large metal iris, Gaethras and his subordinates heading in with the rest of them - the Manipulator's features now struck with intense curiosity and interest as to what lay within the tower's sanctum.
Satisfied that Johanne could move and would accompany them into the tower master’s lair, Cazamir walked ahead with the others. The Hasrukkites and their daemonic consorts were the true enemy here, but he would not trust Gaethras one inch after his earlier threats. He purposefully kept close to the man, should he need to restrain him.
The sanctum opened up before them, a wide, domed chamber of stone held up by metal gridwork and supports. Arcane machinery filled the place with a low hum, the area being lit by a mixture of eldritch fires and beams of sunlight piercing down through the dusty air through several small windows above. The curving walls were affixed with many shelves and containers, laden with alchemical vials, timeworn tomes and strange components. Dominating the place was some sort of large edifice of machinery, sprouting great lengths of copper pipes, crystal rods, pumps and smokestacks that threaded their way upwards to tangle into the metal girders above. Part of its upper surface was flat and marked as if there was an aperture or lid that currently was closed. The entire thing was still and lifeless.
The arcanofex strode over to stand aside the machine, and fell still.
Mel entered the chamber still attempting to arrange her mussed clothing as well as scrape up what thin scum of her pride remained.
She had healed in Naskha's name only hours ago. It was not so unreasonable therefore to think she could draw on some of His divine spirit within to sense something demonic approaching; yet there was nothing. Her mind lay in doubt like an infested mattress. It itched. Maybe the walls of the Umbral fortress itself, as she half-suspected, resisted scrying; or maybe Naskha did not deem her ready for certain powers yet. Or maybe He was mad at her about the Toranite gesture and all the feebly improvised lies.
I'm sorry! I only wanted to prevent any unnecessary bloodshed, she pleaded silently.
The only reply was a grumpy, amphibious Hrmph from her pocket.
Or maybe there was no demon. But somehow, all things recently passed considered, she doubted it. She even glanced back fearfully over her shoulder through the iris as the arcanofex took its position.
<Center>* * *</center>
As the motley band moved cautiously closer, Cazamir at the fore, a sudden surge of energy crackled through the previously dormant contraption ahead of them. Electricity danced between pipes and crystal rods, whipping up and down in hypnotic patterns, and then a thread-thin bolt of energy lashed out with a crack of sound. It ran through Cazamir's form, momentarily jolting him with electric force, and then the machine once again fell still.
"The master required a small spark of bioelectric energy, to fully extract himself from his current predicament and complete the circuit to transfer his conciousness," the arcanofex grated as way of explanation in the short moment of silent confusion that followed the strike. Then the lid of the machine creaked. Something within was moving. After a moment, with a sudden hiss of hot steam and a snarl of gears, the lid was sent toppling off, clattering noisily to the floor.
And from within rose what had once been a human, the Carthagian thaumineer that had made this tower his home.
He pulled himself to his impressive full height with a chittering of cogs and pistons, and strode out of the sarcophagus. Seven and a half foot tall, the steamwork figure was crafted from steel and rivets, gears and pipes, the framework designed akin to the human skeleton though heavily reinforced with blacksteel armour plating. The grinning skull of a head was familiar in structure to the mimir the band carried, though the eyes of this one were filled with glimmering lenses of green glass through which the lich looked out at those that had entered its territory. Both graceful, mechanical arms ended in powerful claws that could delicately pick up a glass or vial or other fragile object, but could doubtless pulverise and rend flesh, bone and metal just as easily. From its back rose a series of smokestacks arranged like the pipes of a mighty temple-organ, thin threads of smoke drifting up from the firebox that had finally ignited deep within the construct.
It shifted its head from left to right to cast its gaze across all gathered before it, gears spinning and pistons hissing.
"Welcome," it said.
Next Time: Tales of a Steamwork Lich!
"Ebri, Mel, help Johanne. Wyshira, gather up the rest of the mages and start them moving. Ebri, you lead them up, make sure the way's clear. Cazamir, Kale and I will follow you up when there's space. Master... Gaethras, was it? You're welcome to join us covering the rear, if you wish?" He tried to keep out of his voice how likely he felt it to be that the offer would be accepted - he had to offer, though.
* * *
Melisande's glowing beacon of ignorance, as Gaethras put it, shone midnight blue as she gathered her robe and stepped cautiously among the rivulets of assorted bodily seepage, keeping her head down to hide the azure glare of her humiliation.
Yet, as she went toward Meg'anna with a healing potion in hand, some of the tension in her shoulders eased. It didn't matter now what Gaethras thought--or what anyone thought, for that matter, of her ruse. It may not have been brilliant, but her friends and her countrymen had not turned against one another. Now that they had fought side by side and now that the Carthagian ranks were badly depleted, it was unlikely they would choose further bloodshed. And that had been the whole point. Clumsily done, perhaps--but done.
She opened her mouth to say as much to Gaethras when the Arcanofex erupted.
As it spoke she watched the living machine, even while holding out the healing potion to Meg'anna in case Wyshira's attentions had not been sufficient.
The grinding, mechanical voice ended on a sinister note. All the deep blue blood still radiating in Mel's face suddenly drained out of it again.
"A devil," she murmured, eyes wide.
Although she moved quickly to obey Sebastion's instructions, she paused before reaching Johanne's side. If it were true that a real devil from the planes of hell were here, would not Naskha let her sense its abominable presence? Her head to one side, Melisande tried to probe through the walls and floor of the Tower around her, searching fearfully like for the source of a strange noise in the dark, afraid what her hand might land on but unable to resist the need to know.
A fiend... Ebri drew her kama forth, examining the blade briefly-- although what she was really checking for was that it remained silver. Although Karbal had said that Dreamweavers went in human guise, still, she had no idea what they were when they were not in human form. Perhaps devils?
She was not afraid for herself; only that she would fail somehow, and that her efforts would not be sufficient to save Melisande. The Great Prophet shaped all the ends of his Chosen; no doubt all such plans were integral to the Purpose. And although there were of course entities of great evil in the world, there were beings of great enlightenment as well-- the Old Masters, for instance. Even fiends are still part of the world's illusion--
"Let us go up, then--"she suggested, adding for Gaethras' benefit, "This too has been foreseen."
"Can you move?" Cazamir asked Johanne. "The construct says we should move with haste, and I would prefer your knowledge to just that of the manipulators." He looked at the man with concern, sparing occasional glances at Jarvis. Cazamir still did not know how the other sages fared. Perhaps it would be best just to get their charges out of this tower. No, he had been through too much just to let Gaethras and the others reap the benefit of their sacrifices. "If you cannot, then at least one of us should go hear what it's master has to say about this devil."
* * *
In the blue-tinted light of the upper chamber, Ebri's kama flashed silver still. The magics within the weapon did not seem to have detected the presence of a Dreamweaver nearby, at least for now. Even as the shadowclad woman examined her implement, the nearby Melisande found that her attempt to sense the presence of a dark evil or abomination gave her little information, except a faint stirring of disgust when her gaze lingered on the bloodsoaked corpses of the girallons. Indeed, the metal and stone structure of this place itself seemed to oppressively withstand letting her get any notion of what might lie beneath them in the bulk of the tower.
"I think I can move," Johanne said painfully as he shifted, before dragging himself to his feet, Jarvis quickly moving to support the mage. "Wouldn't miss this for the world."
* * *
The band cautiously moved through the large metal iris, Gaethras and his subordinates heading in with the rest of them - the Manipulator's features now struck with intense curiosity and interest as to what lay within the tower's sanctum.
Satisfied that Johanne could move and would accompany them into the tower master’s lair, Cazamir walked ahead with the others. The Hasrukkites and their daemonic consorts were the true enemy here, but he would not trust Gaethras one inch after his earlier threats. He purposefully kept close to the man, should he need to restrain him.
The sanctum opened up before them, a wide, domed chamber of stone held up by metal gridwork and supports. Arcane machinery filled the place with a low hum, the area being lit by a mixture of eldritch fires and beams of sunlight piercing down through the dusty air through several small windows above. The curving walls were affixed with many shelves and containers, laden with alchemical vials, timeworn tomes and strange components. Dominating the place was some sort of large edifice of machinery, sprouting great lengths of copper pipes, crystal rods, pumps and smokestacks that threaded their way upwards to tangle into the metal girders above. Part of its upper surface was flat and marked as if there was an aperture or lid that currently was closed. The entire thing was still and lifeless.
The arcanofex strode over to stand aside the machine, and fell still.
* * *
Mel entered the chamber still attempting to arrange her mussed clothing as well as scrape up what thin scum of her pride remained.
She had healed in Naskha's name only hours ago. It was not so unreasonable therefore to think she could draw on some of His divine spirit within to sense something demonic approaching; yet there was nothing. Her mind lay in doubt like an infested mattress. It itched. Maybe the walls of the Umbral fortress itself, as she half-suspected, resisted scrying; or maybe Naskha did not deem her ready for certain powers yet. Or maybe He was mad at her about the Toranite gesture and all the feebly improvised lies.
I'm sorry! I only wanted to prevent any unnecessary bloodshed, she pleaded silently.
The only reply was a grumpy, amphibious Hrmph from her pocket.
Or maybe there was no demon. But somehow, all things recently passed considered, she doubted it. She even glanced back fearfully over her shoulder through the iris as the arcanofex took its position.
<Center>* * *</center>
As the motley band moved cautiously closer, Cazamir at the fore, a sudden surge of energy crackled through the previously dormant contraption ahead of them. Electricity danced between pipes and crystal rods, whipping up and down in hypnotic patterns, and then a thread-thin bolt of energy lashed out with a crack of sound. It ran through Cazamir's form, momentarily jolting him with electric force, and then the machine once again fell still.
"The master required a small spark of bioelectric energy, to fully extract himself from his current predicament and complete the circuit to transfer his conciousness," the arcanofex grated as way of explanation in the short moment of silent confusion that followed the strike. Then the lid of the machine creaked. Something within was moving. After a moment, with a sudden hiss of hot steam and a snarl of gears, the lid was sent toppling off, clattering noisily to the floor.
And from within rose what had once been a human, the Carthagian thaumineer that had made this tower his home.
He pulled himself to his impressive full height with a chittering of cogs and pistons, and strode out of the sarcophagus. Seven and a half foot tall, the steamwork figure was crafted from steel and rivets, gears and pipes, the framework designed akin to the human skeleton though heavily reinforced with blacksteel armour plating. The grinning skull of a head was familiar in structure to the mimir the band carried, though the eyes of this one were filled with glimmering lenses of green glass through which the lich looked out at those that had entered its territory. Both graceful, mechanical arms ended in powerful claws that could delicately pick up a glass or vial or other fragile object, but could doubtless pulverise and rend flesh, bone and metal just as easily. From its back rose a series of smokestacks arranged like the pipes of a mighty temple-organ, thin threads of smoke drifting up from the firebox that had finally ignited deep within the construct.
It shifted its head from left to right to cast its gaze across all gathered before it, gears spinning and pistons hissing.
"Welcome," it said.
Next Time: Tales of a Steamwork Lich!
Carnifex
First Post
Ask, and you shall recieve... 
Sebastion felt himself jump a little as the spark danced out, touching briefly on Cazamir. A quick, flicked glance left and right assured him that his nervousness hadn't been noticed as other attention was rivetted on the figure rising from the sepulchral container.
As was his own... There was something harmonious about the figure, an almost mathemetical grace and precision that reminded him - to an extent - of his pistols, and the strange, bulky, black-armoured figure he'd seen in the vision he'd received from his sword.
At the same time, though, there was something unsettling about the way the still vaguely human figure at the heart of it no longer appeared human. Perhaps it was the eyes - for it was certainly the green-tinted lenses that seemed to draw Sebastion's attention - but he appeared to have lost something to the machine in order to do whatever it was he had done.
"Welcome" it said, bluntly, and Sebastion wasn't sure he felt welcome at all.
"I'll keep an eye on the door...." he muttered, in case anyone cared to listen, and turned his back on the whole arrangement, unable to block out the assortment of mechanical noises that accompanied their host.
For Melisande, the itchy mattress of doubt was flung aside as the lich came to life.
She stared in slackjawed amazement. There were books about this, but she never dreamed it could be real. That a wizard could preserve his spirit eternally through arcane machinations was hard enough to swallow--but with actual machinery!
"How did--how could it--" she began, stopping abruptly at a mental wail from Pierre. The toad was right. There was no time for all the questions.
"Thank you. Um, how soon do you expect the demon? Because some of us are injured and I gather you expect us to help defend the tower from it. Not that we mind, of course--anything to foil evil cults of Hashrukk is right up our alley! But if there isn't much time we'd better deploy our resources first and talk later."
She thought this sounded very professional, up until the moment she realized Gaethras would be adding that to what he suspected and what she had told him and coming up with an headachingly unbalanced equation. Well, it was too late to try to clear any of that up now anyway. She gave him a sheepish shrug and turned back to the gently whirring lich, clasping her hands in eager anticipation.
As far as Ebri was concerned, the thing was an abomination. Fortunately, the shadow-stuff that covered her did not show the contempt and disgust she felt; she did not have to hide it. She took up a position carefully behind Gaethras, in view of the mage and Melisande.
No doubt the Immarian priestess she had been supposed to be would be eagerly filling her travel-log right now; she was spared that pretense as well for the moment. A curiosity, another expression of the world's abundant life and diversity... a new type of person/creature/object... That would be the traveler's viewpoint. Were any of them left, anyone from her family and clan would be cowering in terror at the moment, prostrate on the floor. Or more likely, preparing to worship it as a god, and wondering why the ancestors never mentioned this one-- But she, Ebri-- the one of the many personalities that was most truly herself-- felt only loathing. It was vile, a perversion of life and all of its potential. It was a dismissal of the philosophical outlook that humanity contained the intrinsic matter and the wherewithal to improve itself; a denial of the eternal spirit in favor of a body that was artificially furthered by machines... it would mire a person down into the grip of worldly illusion, rather than free them --- Why not just shackle oneself to a cart and push it off a cliff? Ebri wondered.
Surely the Prophet ordained that I should be in this form to serve him; had we been better suited in another form, we would be in that form-- it would be folly and an insult to waste the gifts we were given, tossing them on a trash pile and choosing something else...
But as its creature had said, the 'Master' had knowledge of the Tower and its functions-- which meant that he might possibly have knowledge of the Umbrals, if they were the shadow people that Gaethras believed she represented...
She could not help but feel curious, intensely curious, about the People of the Shadow. Yet anything she said now would compromise the fragile illusion that held Gaethras in check-- and they would need his talents if a demon was moving towards them...
"We will defend this Tower, of course, 'Master', and certainly we will work against the deluded followers of Hashrukk-- yet we might do the task better if all of us understood the nature of this place and your... accomplishment... somewhat better. " she suggested.
Behind her, the druidess Meg’anna could not manage to do anything but stare up at the monstrosity with wide eyes. What had see gotten herself into? This was supposed to be a fact finding mission about a disappearing gnoll, and it had turned into a demon and machinery fight-fest. Wringing her hands around the warm haft of her spear, Meg'anna spat on the floor of the room, showing her obvious distaste for the machine-man-thing. She knew, though, that this thing was beyond her meagre powers. Even the combined effort of her friends could not bring this thing to its knees. She would simply have to wait. Perhaps the manipulators would foul up and irritate the creation, allowing it to rend them limb from limb. A slight smile crept onto Meg's face with that thought....
While much of the assembly, even Johanne and Gaethras, seemed struck dumb at the sight of the steamwork lich, the steel framework shifted to address the questions that Ebri and Melisande put to it.
"I suppose I cannot expect you to have all the pertinent information."
"This tower was constructed by the beings known as Umbrals prior to the Dawn War - its purpose seems to have been that of a sentry tower, a fortified structure garrisoned with warriors and possessing of a magical node within it - a node of unparalleled size in anything built by human hands. The entire building is structured such that it channels the node."
"The source of power is concentrated in the lower, subterranean levels of the tower; from where the umbramantic energies are channeled upwards. The Umbrals could have used the node to tap into shadow magics, using it as a defence, a source of power for spellcasting, or even a weapon. It also served as... an emitter. Which is what the Hashrukkites wish to use it for."
"You have already met the tower's mother-spirit. She has only a fragmentary memory of past events, since when I arrived the tower had already suffered considerable damage and wear from the centuries and some past battle. Thus even she and I do not know the full secrets of the tower, and her access to parts of the tower has degraded; not all of the crystalline matrices are still accessible to her spirit, especially in the lower levels where the Hashrukkites have started to... corrupt the structure. From what we have gathered they plan to make use of the tower's function as an emitter, by harnessing it and routing it through a subject. They are present in the subterranean levels, a number of cultists, twisted beasts and minor fiends; certainly, a priest of their vile faith is leading them. But they have also received into their number of late a devil."
The lich's voice sounded hollow, metallic, with little modulation to the tone. Its glimmering eye-lenses swept across the assembly.
"The devil is of a nature that during my long lifetime as a wizard, I had never heard tell of. The lower levels of the tower are filled now with dry breezes and choking miasmas periodically sweeping through the passages - the effect of the presence of the devil, which seems to... twist the nature of purest Air. It corrupts and perverts the noblest and swiftest of the four elements in its vicinity; I have come to the conclusion that given more time, for it only arrived here recently, escorted by a strong contingent of Hashrukkite cultists who came to join their brethren already here, the devil would affect the entire valley around the tower with its corruption."
"The cultists plan to route the flow of the magical emitter through the corrupter of Air. My calculations would indicate that, if this works - and if I do not have a full understanding of Umbral arcane machinery the cultists certainly don't - it will magnify the devils aura. It will blanket a considerably larger area, the exact deliniations of which I cannot be sure, since I have never seen the emission machinery in operation."
The lich strode over to one of the nearby tables at the side of the room, pistons hissing, where it scooped up a threadbare but impressively crafted cloak of faded purple and red, sweeping the garb up and throwing it over its shoulders, pinning it in place with a brooch of copper, the object sheened with verdigris.
"Better. It has been a considerable period that I have languished here; my studies required further time than my body was willing to give, and the logical solution was thus to construct myself a superior form. Unfortunately I did not perfect the process sufficiently, hence my requirement for bioelectric energy. I was worried that, should the Carthagian expeditionary force have penetrated the sanctum, my sarcophagus would have been destroyed before I could complete the circuit ritual." Gaethras's features had become unreadable, the Manipulator reverting to a neutral expression.
"The Hashrukkites will plan to put the node into operation relatively soon. They have been preparing for the arrival of the devil for some time now, but have yet to finish their work in the subterranean levels entirely."
Next Time: More Revealed, Questions & Answers, and Preparations for Descent...
Sebastion felt himself jump a little as the spark danced out, touching briefly on Cazamir. A quick, flicked glance left and right assured him that his nervousness hadn't been noticed as other attention was rivetted on the figure rising from the sepulchral container.
As was his own... There was something harmonious about the figure, an almost mathemetical grace and precision that reminded him - to an extent - of his pistols, and the strange, bulky, black-armoured figure he'd seen in the vision he'd received from his sword.
At the same time, though, there was something unsettling about the way the still vaguely human figure at the heart of it no longer appeared human. Perhaps it was the eyes - for it was certainly the green-tinted lenses that seemed to draw Sebastion's attention - but he appeared to have lost something to the machine in order to do whatever it was he had done.
"Welcome" it said, bluntly, and Sebastion wasn't sure he felt welcome at all.
"I'll keep an eye on the door...." he muttered, in case anyone cared to listen, and turned his back on the whole arrangement, unable to block out the assortment of mechanical noises that accompanied their host.
* * *
For Melisande, the itchy mattress of doubt was flung aside as the lich came to life.
She stared in slackjawed amazement. There were books about this, but she never dreamed it could be real. That a wizard could preserve his spirit eternally through arcane machinations was hard enough to swallow--but with actual machinery!
"How did--how could it--" she began, stopping abruptly at a mental wail from Pierre. The toad was right. There was no time for all the questions.
"Thank you. Um, how soon do you expect the demon? Because some of us are injured and I gather you expect us to help defend the tower from it. Not that we mind, of course--anything to foil evil cults of Hashrukk is right up our alley! But if there isn't much time we'd better deploy our resources first and talk later."
She thought this sounded very professional, up until the moment she realized Gaethras would be adding that to what he suspected and what she had told him and coming up with an headachingly unbalanced equation. Well, it was too late to try to clear any of that up now anyway. She gave him a sheepish shrug and turned back to the gently whirring lich, clasping her hands in eager anticipation.
As far as Ebri was concerned, the thing was an abomination. Fortunately, the shadow-stuff that covered her did not show the contempt and disgust she felt; she did not have to hide it. She took up a position carefully behind Gaethras, in view of the mage and Melisande.
No doubt the Immarian priestess she had been supposed to be would be eagerly filling her travel-log right now; she was spared that pretense as well for the moment. A curiosity, another expression of the world's abundant life and diversity... a new type of person/creature/object... That would be the traveler's viewpoint. Were any of them left, anyone from her family and clan would be cowering in terror at the moment, prostrate on the floor. Or more likely, preparing to worship it as a god, and wondering why the ancestors never mentioned this one-- But she, Ebri-- the one of the many personalities that was most truly herself-- felt only loathing. It was vile, a perversion of life and all of its potential. It was a dismissal of the philosophical outlook that humanity contained the intrinsic matter and the wherewithal to improve itself; a denial of the eternal spirit in favor of a body that was artificially furthered by machines... it would mire a person down into the grip of worldly illusion, rather than free them --- Why not just shackle oneself to a cart and push it off a cliff? Ebri wondered.
Surely the Prophet ordained that I should be in this form to serve him; had we been better suited in another form, we would be in that form-- it would be folly and an insult to waste the gifts we were given, tossing them on a trash pile and choosing something else...
But as its creature had said, the 'Master' had knowledge of the Tower and its functions-- which meant that he might possibly have knowledge of the Umbrals, if they were the shadow people that Gaethras believed she represented...
She could not help but feel curious, intensely curious, about the People of the Shadow. Yet anything she said now would compromise the fragile illusion that held Gaethras in check-- and they would need his talents if a demon was moving towards them...
"We will defend this Tower, of course, 'Master', and certainly we will work against the deluded followers of Hashrukk-- yet we might do the task better if all of us understood the nature of this place and your... accomplishment... somewhat better. " she suggested.
Behind her, the druidess Meg’anna could not manage to do anything but stare up at the monstrosity with wide eyes. What had see gotten herself into? This was supposed to be a fact finding mission about a disappearing gnoll, and it had turned into a demon and machinery fight-fest. Wringing her hands around the warm haft of her spear, Meg'anna spat on the floor of the room, showing her obvious distaste for the machine-man-thing. She knew, though, that this thing was beyond her meagre powers. Even the combined effort of her friends could not bring this thing to its knees. She would simply have to wait. Perhaps the manipulators would foul up and irritate the creation, allowing it to rend them limb from limb. A slight smile crept onto Meg's face with that thought....
* * *
While much of the assembly, even Johanne and Gaethras, seemed struck dumb at the sight of the steamwork lich, the steel framework shifted to address the questions that Ebri and Melisande put to it.
"I suppose I cannot expect you to have all the pertinent information."
"This tower was constructed by the beings known as Umbrals prior to the Dawn War - its purpose seems to have been that of a sentry tower, a fortified structure garrisoned with warriors and possessing of a magical node within it - a node of unparalleled size in anything built by human hands. The entire building is structured such that it channels the node."
"The source of power is concentrated in the lower, subterranean levels of the tower; from where the umbramantic energies are channeled upwards. The Umbrals could have used the node to tap into shadow magics, using it as a defence, a source of power for spellcasting, or even a weapon. It also served as... an emitter. Which is what the Hashrukkites wish to use it for."
"You have already met the tower's mother-spirit. She has only a fragmentary memory of past events, since when I arrived the tower had already suffered considerable damage and wear from the centuries and some past battle. Thus even she and I do not know the full secrets of the tower, and her access to parts of the tower has degraded; not all of the crystalline matrices are still accessible to her spirit, especially in the lower levels where the Hashrukkites have started to... corrupt the structure. From what we have gathered they plan to make use of the tower's function as an emitter, by harnessing it and routing it through a subject. They are present in the subterranean levels, a number of cultists, twisted beasts and minor fiends; certainly, a priest of their vile faith is leading them. But they have also received into their number of late a devil."
The lich's voice sounded hollow, metallic, with little modulation to the tone. Its glimmering eye-lenses swept across the assembly.
"The devil is of a nature that during my long lifetime as a wizard, I had never heard tell of. The lower levels of the tower are filled now with dry breezes and choking miasmas periodically sweeping through the passages - the effect of the presence of the devil, which seems to... twist the nature of purest Air. It corrupts and perverts the noblest and swiftest of the four elements in its vicinity; I have come to the conclusion that given more time, for it only arrived here recently, escorted by a strong contingent of Hashrukkite cultists who came to join their brethren already here, the devil would affect the entire valley around the tower with its corruption."
"The cultists plan to route the flow of the magical emitter through the corrupter of Air. My calculations would indicate that, if this works - and if I do not have a full understanding of Umbral arcane machinery the cultists certainly don't - it will magnify the devils aura. It will blanket a considerably larger area, the exact deliniations of which I cannot be sure, since I have never seen the emission machinery in operation."
The lich strode over to one of the nearby tables at the side of the room, pistons hissing, where it scooped up a threadbare but impressively crafted cloak of faded purple and red, sweeping the garb up and throwing it over its shoulders, pinning it in place with a brooch of copper, the object sheened with verdigris.
"Better. It has been a considerable period that I have languished here; my studies required further time than my body was willing to give, and the logical solution was thus to construct myself a superior form. Unfortunately I did not perfect the process sufficiently, hence my requirement for bioelectric energy. I was worried that, should the Carthagian expeditionary force have penetrated the sanctum, my sarcophagus would have been destroyed before I could complete the circuit ritual." Gaethras's features had become unreadable, the Manipulator reverting to a neutral expression.
"The Hashrukkites will plan to put the node into operation relatively soon. They have been preparing for the arrival of the devil for some time now, but have yet to finish their work in the subterranean levels entirely."
Next Time: More Revealed, Questions & Answers, and Preparations for Descent...
Carnifex
First Post
Sorry about the very slow updates at the moment, I'll be putting a new one up before too long. After the few weeks of my dissertation work it's being a tough time getting the energy back up for the game and getting it moving once more, but it *is* happening, and I have no intention of letting this story hour fade away I will probably have a new post up tomorrow.
I will probably have a new post up tomorrow.
Carnifex
First Post
Umbrals ... Nodes ... Emitters ... The words of the Master washed over Wyshira as she stood dumbfounded in the presence of the metallic monstrosity. She wasn't making sense of anything it - or rather he - said, until he mentioned the demon, the Corrupter of Air.
She listened attentively then, and soon found herself becoming accustomed to the odd mechanical voice and flashing green eyes. On the surface, the being seemed almost completely, abhorrently inhuman; and yet..... somehow Wyshira managed to overlook all that as the threat that the demon posed to Air became clearer.
"What does it do to the air?" she interjected without preamble or introduction. "The demon, I mean. It corrupts the air, but in what way? And how does that fit in with the Hashrukkite's plans to spread their diseases?
"No, no, NO! We cannot let them pervert the air!" she went on vehemently. "We must stop them before they finish getting the 'emitter' ready!"
Turning away from the door as he began to understand that the mechanical wizard was intent on actually leading them down to the depths, Sebastion laid a hand on Wyshira's shoulder gently.
"I don't think there was ever any doubt of that..." he offered, quietly, before clearing his throat loudly.
"Uh... I know... I know you said that your knowledge of the tower was incomplete, but do you have any sort of map or chart of the layout down there?"
It was strange company, and strange talk about elements and elder gods and devils. The earth was sick. The air was being corrupted. Rumors circulated about the sickening of the oceans and weird fire magics... it didn't leave much room for comfort in the land. One man's trash Wasteland is another elder god's vacation paradise, Kale mused as it became more and more clear that the horrible forces of old were not content to remain the ghost stories and scapegoats of younger years.
Who were these elder gods, and how can they be stopped? What do they want? Are other regions being polluted in the same way as the air? Kale was awash with questions, but saw fit to ask none of them. He didn't much relish his present company. Secretive teammates and ambitious fleshtwisters and dark zealots and elder powers and powerful wizards who don't know when to die. Whatever happened next, it likely wouldn't be good for the hapless crew. While he waited for events to unfold, the young mercenary tried his best to remain obscure and out of the way.
Mel glanced over at Gaethas. She'd made up a number of heavy-handed lies to cover the reason for her own presence here, but unfortunately that included the ruse that she already knew why he was here, which precluded asking him. Which was frustrating, because now she really wanted to know. Why did the lich fear that the Carthagians would destroy his sarcophagus? Why would any good wizard or Manipulator wish to destroy something before having studied it? What did they fear here?
Then she turned to Wyshira. Of course the priestess, part elemental herself, would be especially horrified by what the lich said was happening in the bowels of the tower. Mel herself was horrified as well--even a little sick to her stomach at the thought--but also a little curious. What other kinds of magic could be "emitted" using the "node"? If they could just dispose of the Hashrukkites and the demon, there would be much to learn from the lich and his tower.
That would be the catch, though.
She added her own request to that of Sebastion. "Well, sir, you're the only one of us who doesn't need to breathe. What kind of protection can you provide us with?"
The lich turned to respond to Wyshira's question. "The air in the lower levels of the tower has become befouled, a mixture of dry, lifeless air and miasmas moving amongst the subterranean passages. However, the devil has not, I believe, been here for long enough for it to corrupt the air as badly as it potentially could, and as yet it remains tolerable for living creatures such as yourself - and the Hashrukkite cultists. Futhermore, I believe the devil has managed to corrupt several minor air elementals, though from where they came I do not know."
"My knowledge of the way down is sufficient enough for us to reach the subterranean levels and locate the base of the node structure, where the Hashrukkites have based themselves. However, I am unaware of whether they have altered the tunnel structures in any way, perhaps by barricading or blocking some areas. It is possible that they have done this, and certainly they will not be unprepared."
For Meg'anna, it was more than stiffling in the room with the large mechanism looking back at her. Ever fibre of her being yearned to lash out at the lich ans all of his mechanical workings. She knew that there was no chance at her even being able to penetrate the liches defenses, nor even perhaps getting close to him. The Arcanofex had dealt all kinds of damage to the girallions earlier that she had witnesses, and she could only assume that this monstrousity was capable of the same.
Gritting her teeth, Meg continued to stand at the rear of the others, wincing every time the eye lenses of the machine settled upon her. She could not understand what the machine spoke of, yet there was a dire look in the eyes of all in the room. She could sense the fear, yet there was a sliver of resolve among those more introspective of the group. Meg'anna could only respect the priestess resolve, something which she was not full of at the moment. What was she to do? It wasnt like she wanted to talk to the thing anyhow.
However, there was something pressing that needed to be asked. Either no one had thought of it, or no one had the brass to say it to the hulking machine-man. Taking out her notepad, Meg'anna quickly scribbled down a few sentences and thrust it toward Melisande, hoping she would understand.
It read: "If you are able to muster these "machines" to protect your tower, why havent you sent the Arcanofex to drive out the demon and its cultists? Machinery is not effected by poisoned air, while we are. If these cultists are beyond your power and resources, then how are we to accomplish this task?"
Meg'anna wanted badly to ask about the gnoll she was sent here to find, yet she knew that this was neither the time nor the place. If the lich-thing knew, then she would just have to find out later.
The lich took the proferred item with one steel gauntlet-hand and read it carefully. "A wise question, and one to which the answer is easy. When the Hashrukkites first assaulted the tower, I sent a number of my steel sentinels against them, but all were quickly destroyed. The Hashrukkite leader and a wizardly accomplice in the attire of a thaumineer both wove entropic magics that rapidly rusted and damaged my servants to a non-operative level. Were I to attack them myself I would most likely fall victim to the same. Sadly my Crystal Eye, the device most suited to dealing with these intruders, was incomplete and entered into attack routines automatically when you encountered it. I do not blame you for destroying it, but it would have proved useful."
DM's Note: Yep, the PC's trashed the Crystal Eye, the crystal construct crafted in mimicry of a beholder. Oh well...
"I shall accompany you down and support you with what magics I can, but my proficiency in battle magic is not strong, and I fear to approach the leaders of the cultists lest I be reduced to rust. Now, perhaps, if your questions are answered, we should begin to move down, or at least those of you who are coming."
"We cannot allow the vile Hashrukkites to corrupt the air of the Drakkath," rumbled the heavily-armoured Toranite warrior, the first words he had spoken since they had met him. "'T'would be a disaster for Carthagia and all peoples of this place. They must be stopped." His armoured visage turned to Gaethras.
"Yes," the Manipulator said after a moment's pause, nodding. "We'll aid you with this. It is to no-one's benefit at all for cultists of Elder Gods to gain power and influence."
Johanne, the worst of his injuries slightly salved by the healing magic of a potion that Kale had handed to him, also agreed. "I'm not going to stand around doing nothing while Hashrukkites desecrate a place like this with their foul rites. Think of all the precious relics down there, all the remnants of ancient Umbral history! No, I can still stand and I've got a few spells I can use against them, though it wont be much."
Burl tapped him on the shoulder. "I didn't have a chance to cast the most potent of my spells back there; the closeness of melee meant I might have injured some of you. This time I'll be ready though, and I think I can help Johanne be of use too." The dark-haired man reached into one of the pouches of his inconspicuous garb, drawing forth a scroll. "Fireball. If you get a chance to light a large group of the cultists up with it, don't hesitate to use it. The combined might of our magical attacks should at least serve to drive back the lesser of the foes that will face us down there." The Drakkath mage nodded thankfully, gripping the arcane scroll tightly in one blood-stained hand.
Next Time: The Final Preparations before the band of intrepid adventurers descend beneath the tower, into the shadowy gloom of its subterranean chambers... to face the evil of the cult of Hashrukk, Elder God and Daemonflesh...
She listened attentively then, and soon found herself becoming accustomed to the odd mechanical voice and flashing green eyes. On the surface, the being seemed almost completely, abhorrently inhuman; and yet..... somehow Wyshira managed to overlook all that as the threat that the demon posed to Air became clearer.
"What does it do to the air?" she interjected without preamble or introduction. "The demon, I mean. It corrupts the air, but in what way? And how does that fit in with the Hashrukkite's plans to spread their diseases?
"No, no, NO! We cannot let them pervert the air!" she went on vehemently. "We must stop them before they finish getting the 'emitter' ready!"
Turning away from the door as he began to understand that the mechanical wizard was intent on actually leading them down to the depths, Sebastion laid a hand on Wyshira's shoulder gently.
"I don't think there was ever any doubt of that..." he offered, quietly, before clearing his throat loudly.
"Uh... I know... I know you said that your knowledge of the tower was incomplete, but do you have any sort of map or chart of the layout down there?"
* * *
It was strange company, and strange talk about elements and elder gods and devils. The earth was sick. The air was being corrupted. Rumors circulated about the sickening of the oceans and weird fire magics... it didn't leave much room for comfort in the land. One man's trash Wasteland is another elder god's vacation paradise, Kale mused as it became more and more clear that the horrible forces of old were not content to remain the ghost stories and scapegoats of younger years.
Who were these elder gods, and how can they be stopped? What do they want? Are other regions being polluted in the same way as the air? Kale was awash with questions, but saw fit to ask none of them. He didn't much relish his present company. Secretive teammates and ambitious fleshtwisters and dark zealots and elder powers and powerful wizards who don't know when to die. Whatever happened next, it likely wouldn't be good for the hapless crew. While he waited for events to unfold, the young mercenary tried his best to remain obscure and out of the way.
* * *
Mel glanced over at Gaethas. She'd made up a number of heavy-handed lies to cover the reason for her own presence here, but unfortunately that included the ruse that she already knew why he was here, which precluded asking him. Which was frustrating, because now she really wanted to know. Why did the lich fear that the Carthagians would destroy his sarcophagus? Why would any good wizard or Manipulator wish to destroy something before having studied it? What did they fear here?
Then she turned to Wyshira. Of course the priestess, part elemental herself, would be especially horrified by what the lich said was happening in the bowels of the tower. Mel herself was horrified as well--even a little sick to her stomach at the thought--but also a little curious. What other kinds of magic could be "emitted" using the "node"? If they could just dispose of the Hashrukkites and the demon, there would be much to learn from the lich and his tower.
That would be the catch, though.
She added her own request to that of Sebastion. "Well, sir, you're the only one of us who doesn't need to breathe. What kind of protection can you provide us with?"
The lich turned to respond to Wyshira's question. "The air in the lower levels of the tower has become befouled, a mixture of dry, lifeless air and miasmas moving amongst the subterranean passages. However, the devil has not, I believe, been here for long enough for it to corrupt the air as badly as it potentially could, and as yet it remains tolerable for living creatures such as yourself - and the Hashrukkite cultists. Futhermore, I believe the devil has managed to corrupt several minor air elementals, though from where they came I do not know."
"My knowledge of the way down is sufficient enough for us to reach the subterranean levels and locate the base of the node structure, where the Hashrukkites have based themselves. However, I am unaware of whether they have altered the tunnel structures in any way, perhaps by barricading or blocking some areas. It is possible that they have done this, and certainly they will not be unprepared."
For Meg'anna, it was more than stiffling in the room with the large mechanism looking back at her. Ever fibre of her being yearned to lash out at the lich ans all of his mechanical workings. She knew that there was no chance at her even being able to penetrate the liches defenses, nor even perhaps getting close to him. The Arcanofex had dealt all kinds of damage to the girallions earlier that she had witnesses, and she could only assume that this monstrousity was capable of the same.
Gritting her teeth, Meg continued to stand at the rear of the others, wincing every time the eye lenses of the machine settled upon her. She could not understand what the machine spoke of, yet there was a dire look in the eyes of all in the room. She could sense the fear, yet there was a sliver of resolve among those more introspective of the group. Meg'anna could only respect the priestess resolve, something which she was not full of at the moment. What was she to do? It wasnt like she wanted to talk to the thing anyhow.
However, there was something pressing that needed to be asked. Either no one had thought of it, or no one had the brass to say it to the hulking machine-man. Taking out her notepad, Meg'anna quickly scribbled down a few sentences and thrust it toward Melisande, hoping she would understand.
It read: "If you are able to muster these "machines" to protect your tower, why havent you sent the Arcanofex to drive out the demon and its cultists? Machinery is not effected by poisoned air, while we are. If these cultists are beyond your power and resources, then how are we to accomplish this task?"
Meg'anna wanted badly to ask about the gnoll she was sent here to find, yet she knew that this was neither the time nor the place. If the lich-thing knew, then she would just have to find out later.
The lich took the proferred item with one steel gauntlet-hand and read it carefully. "A wise question, and one to which the answer is easy. When the Hashrukkites first assaulted the tower, I sent a number of my steel sentinels against them, but all were quickly destroyed. The Hashrukkite leader and a wizardly accomplice in the attire of a thaumineer both wove entropic magics that rapidly rusted and damaged my servants to a non-operative level. Were I to attack them myself I would most likely fall victim to the same. Sadly my Crystal Eye, the device most suited to dealing with these intruders, was incomplete and entered into attack routines automatically when you encountered it. I do not blame you for destroying it, but it would have proved useful."
DM's Note: Yep, the PC's trashed the Crystal Eye, the crystal construct crafted in mimicry of a beholder. Oh well...
"I shall accompany you down and support you with what magics I can, but my proficiency in battle magic is not strong, and I fear to approach the leaders of the cultists lest I be reduced to rust. Now, perhaps, if your questions are answered, we should begin to move down, or at least those of you who are coming."
"We cannot allow the vile Hashrukkites to corrupt the air of the Drakkath," rumbled the heavily-armoured Toranite warrior, the first words he had spoken since they had met him. "'T'would be a disaster for Carthagia and all peoples of this place. They must be stopped." His armoured visage turned to Gaethras.
"Yes," the Manipulator said after a moment's pause, nodding. "We'll aid you with this. It is to no-one's benefit at all for cultists of Elder Gods to gain power and influence."
Johanne, the worst of his injuries slightly salved by the healing magic of a potion that Kale had handed to him, also agreed. "I'm not going to stand around doing nothing while Hashrukkites desecrate a place like this with their foul rites. Think of all the precious relics down there, all the remnants of ancient Umbral history! No, I can still stand and I've got a few spells I can use against them, though it wont be much."
Burl tapped him on the shoulder. "I didn't have a chance to cast the most potent of my spells back there; the closeness of melee meant I might have injured some of you. This time I'll be ready though, and I think I can help Johanne be of use too." The dark-haired man reached into one of the pouches of his inconspicuous garb, drawing forth a scroll. "Fireball. If you get a chance to light a large group of the cultists up with it, don't hesitate to use it. The combined might of our magical attacks should at least serve to drive back the lesser of the foes that will face us down there." The Drakkath mage nodded thankfully, gripping the arcane scroll tightly in one blood-stained hand.
Next Time: The Final Preparations before the band of intrepid adventurers descend beneath the tower, into the shadowy gloom of its subterranean chambers... to face the evil of the cult of Hashrukk, Elder God and Daemonflesh...
Carnifex
First Post
Angcuru said:Figured what out? That it's the disembodied spirit of Mellisande's Ancient great great (to the 192837th power) grand-uncle whom had a horseradish fetish?
Heheh, no, I think Molly's worked out something of a little more significance than that
Will try and get another update done before too long, but right now the game is quite literally at crawling speed
