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The VOIDRUNNER'S CODEX is coming! Explore new worlds, fight oppressive empires, fend off fearsome aliens, and wield deadly psionics with this comprehensive boxed set expansion for 5E and A5E!
Carnifex's SH - Updated July 24th, Light and Questions
- Thread starter Carnifex
- Start date
Easter
First Post
Actually, Mel just realized that this is very likely THE limited offer as-seen-on-TV Ginsu Mimir with five handy, retractable, slicing & dicing blades, beholder peeler, zealot melter, kobold skewer, Gilamesh temple blowtorch, long-range Nephian detector and air purifier in attractive new Spring Flower scent (very useful against those annoying infestations of Hashrukkites!).
Exactly what every ditzy blue paladin needs, and absolutely FREE with every purchase of the Asak-Atak(TM) Fire Serpent Rod!
Exactly what every ditzy blue paladin needs, and absolutely FREE with every purchase of the Asak-Atak(TM) Fire Serpent Rod!
Carnifex
First Post
Mel - how did you know?
Anyways, the game actually does seem to be beginning to pick up a little more speed again, so yes, there will actually be updates coming from me again at some point! The past few weeks of holidays I was working a lot on the BH, and this uni term I have my final exams coming up, but I intend to get back into updating this at a decent rate again.
Anyways, the game actually does seem to be beginning to pick up a little more speed again, so yes, there will actually be updates coming from me again at some point! The past few weeks of holidays I was working a lot on the BH, and this uni term I have my final exams coming up, but I intend to get back into updating this at a decent rate again.
Carnifex
First Post
Exams are really catching up with me now, I'm afraid. Two exams this week, then a short break before my last two. Unless I find a sudden burst of energy amongst my exams I'll have to wait until after them to update this again, I'm afraid
But an update will happen eventually, rest assured!
But an update will happen eventually, rest assured!
Carnifex
First Post
Yes, that's right, it's actually an update!
It was all so surreal. They'd be the disparate band venturing deep into the iron bowels of an ancient tower to rout the evils of an elder horror. Hired by a dead man. Allied with freaky zealots in black armor. Certainly the holy purple monkey men would soon make their entrance and save the day. The merchant lifestyle felt more and more appealing to Kale.
But the beat goes on. "We cannot allow the vile Hashrukkites to corrupt the air of the Drakkath." For all his moonbat-itude, the armored man spoke wisdom for once. Kale wondered if he should mention to the man that his armor might get rusted solid during the ensuing combat. We'll see. His mind wondered to the Toranite band they'd encountered months ago... Burl was surely still a draw for these men, even if this one didn't seem to recognize the dark mage... Thoughts of factions and secret agendas spun in Kale's mind.
"It is to no-one's benefit at all for cultists of Elder Gods to gain power and influence." The words did not sooth. The bloody Manipulator seemed amenable as well. Kale believed the robed man about as far as he could throw him.
It was nice that the dead man would go down to help, as well- also convenient for him that he had very little combat magic. When everyone under the sun was signing up for the altruistic mission, it sure seemed the kindly homeowner was getting off awfully light.
Kale spoke up, and said something to that effect. "Everyone under the sun is signing up for this altruistic mission," Kale said sardonically from behind Gaethras and his Toranite buddy. He regretted speaking up from the relative anonymity of the corner, but it was negotiations time. "But it sure seems the kindly homeowner is getting off awfully light."
Kale didn't like that the man-machine's lifeless orbs, along with every other eye in the room, were now on him. Regardless, he forged ahead. "It's a tragedy, the destruction brought to this tower, your home," Kale sympathized with the undead mechanized mage-lich. Suppressing a shiver, he continued. "I'm sure you would be grateful for our help in ridding your tower from these pests," talking about like a rat extermination made it seem for the moment a somewhat possible task. Air devil. Gave a new meaning to ‘What the hell?’ "But when we're not out saving the world, we all have day jobs." Sarcasm multiplied as the absurdity grew. Kale paused while he got a hold of himself. For the last few days, everything felt like futility. With effort, he let the emotions drain from his thoughts. He took a calm breath of iron-tang air.
"When this task is completed," Kale resisted saying 'if',"We’ve helped you, you can help us... we all come off the better. I am seeking the secrets of thaumineering. This one here is an Ironjack pursuing her trade..." He intentionally skipped the rest of his crew with a slight and respectful nod to Melisande and Sebastion. We’ll leave them to pursue their ‘hidden agendas’ without help or disclosure. Let the Carthagians chew on that one. Let Gaethras guess any other conspiracy he can think of, so long as he doesn’t guess the truth. Kale continued smoothly "These sages seek the ancient lore of Umbramancy." He turned at last to the Manipulator and his minion, mission unknown. "While Gaethras and Skippy over here..."
Kale couldn't resist taking a dig at the Toranite warrior. He hoped the man fumed under that black helmet. The armored hulk was just like those cocky blowhards on the practice field- always quick to delight in pounding a lesser foe, then even quicker to cry foul when the small guy broke the rules. I’m making the rules now: either declare your intentions for all to hear, or expect no cooperation or obligation to help you once the Hashrukites are sent back where they came from. You and your buddy can try to take what you want, but between my crew and the mechanical mage… He hoped that baiting the Toranite warrior would take the attention off the barely-hidden fact that he had no idea what the Carthagians were up to.
The young mercenary looked squarely at the Toranite zealot. This wasn’t like the practice field- the black armored man could pound him for sure. Kale didn’t budge. Here’s another rule: you’re ugly. That, as his sarcastic friends on the Academy Green would have pointed out, wasn’t actually a rule at all. But it sounded cool to him. If only he’d said it. No, things were very different this time.
He waited for reactions to his proposition. The idea was intriguing, one Kale hoped would work out in one way or another. When they walked in the room, they were a small band with two possible enemy forces, no way to achieve their objective, and a crazy cult surging up to kill them. As Kale spoke, he pondered the new possibilities. Kale gets help sharing thaumaneering secrets. Anas'Turi learns more about ironjacking... which she subsequently shares with kind old Kale and Ecurius out of the goodness of her heart... and an offer from Ecurius to help her people settle. Johanne would learn his Umbramancy, whom the amenable and friendly man would share with his saviors with just a bit of ego stroking. They may even glean some clues to the intrigue going on all about the lands. Lastly, and most delectably, they might get a good hint into what in the world the Manipulators and Toranites are up to. Win, win, win, win, win. Were even one of these scenarios to fall Kale's way, he would be pleased. All that was left was the ‘crazy cult surging up to kill them’.
The heavily-armoured Toranite didn't seem to pay any attention to Kale's barbed words, though it was hard to tell under all that black and red metal. The thaumineer-lich, however, entirely crafted from metal, seemed more responsive. "I can provide you with such information as I have about what knowledge you seek, indeed, if you can stop the Hashrukkites from corrupting the tower and engaging the emitter. Certainly, should they manage to do so and extend the devil's evil wide and far, I don't know if you would manage to make it far enough away before succumbing to the changed Air. Now, perhaps we should proceed to the subterranean levels of the tower, to ensure that such does not come to pass."
Kale was quiet for once. He nodded simply, as the gravity of the situation sunk in. This was much worse than saving some village in Adbar. Much more was at stake. And if death was certain then, the cost of failure here had multiplied beyond what any one person should be responsible. Or any group of people. Notwithstanding the Toranite warrior who paid him less than no heed, the machine-mage who cheated death, or even Sebastion, who took a rather unadorned view towards his antics. The young mercenary had counted many times on appearing small and unnoteworthy; in the mage's tower that moment he felt quite small indeed.
Stubbornly, he refused to let reality get the best of him: he had lied to Fate plenty of times in the past. Maybe she won't catch on... Kale hoped simply, like a toddler willing himself invisible enough to sneak another cookie from under mother's eye.
* * *
Seperated from the discussions by his previous vigil over the door, Sebastion snorted disgust at Kale's tactic, and quickly covered the reaction by hastily drawing the pistols from his belt and beginning the task of checking they were loaded correctly. Whatever the soundbite-soldier was up to - and despite his ability with the Brineblade Sebastion's firmly held contention was still that Kale talked a better fight than he ever had any chance of actually putting up - facts were facts.
Death was coming, riding side-saddle on her three-headed skeletal wolf, and she'd be feasting for a while tonight. The pistols were ready, the sheathes on his blades were loosed but not ready to fall, and he turned to checking the links in his armour as he shrugged his shoulders to releave the tension.
This, his father had said, was the Hour of the Dog. Battle was due, and swords would be crossed. The field was set, the armies in place, and all that was left was for the blood to be spilt, and fate and luck to favour the bold. It made the hairs on the back of the neck stand up, a dog's hackles sounding warning that war was approaching...
* * *
Melisande was not paying much attention by the time Kale started to try to bargain with the lich. It was good to have someone so practical-minded on hand, when there were other, larger things to consider, like arcane nodes and entropic magic. So much to ponder, and so little time for questions or research!
It looked like they were about to descend into pandemonium again with but the vaguest of notions what they were up against. Last time it had been a cult of Gilamesh, and Mel shuddered to recall the unexpectedly powerful magic unleashed by the priest Cancer then; now it was Hashrukk, and she refused to allow her imagination to speculate on what deadly surprises the disease-cultists and their demon would have waiting. So entropic magic could accelerate the oxidation of metal--what else could it do? The Hashrukkite thaumineer would have to be the group's first target.
Suddenly out of her ruminations she heard Kale call the Toranite priest "Skippy" and began to wonder what she'd missed. But before a giggle could make its way out, she saw Sebastion grimly checking his pistols and all desire to laugh instantly evaporated.
He was probably about to die. Of course, since they met there was rarely a moment when he was not likely to die, but that didn't make it any easier on Mel. On an impulse she went to him, turning herself to shield what she was doing from Ebri Zol's perspective, and drew out the strange, dark orb the priestess had given her. Mel had no idea what it did, but she did suspect Ebri Zol had some hidden, profound interest in keeping her alive. Furtively, she handed it to Sebastion.
"I know you hate magic, but please use this if things get bad." She tried to smile and failed.
Staring at the orb for a moment, wondering if he was imagining the black swirls gradually circling over the black surface between pools of black, Sebastion blinked once, twice, and pulled his gaze away back to where Mel was now making an offer of magical assistance through invisibility spells from the centre of the room. Reaching over his shoulder, he slipped the last of his axes into place in their rack on his back, and settled his shoulders slightly, calming himself once more, despite the continued headache that just wouldn't quite seem to go away.
Casually, unconsciously, flicking the black orb from hand to hand, he stood back a little and watched Mel for a moment.
She's.... grown? he thought to himself. It wasn't just the change of the spear she used to carry for the sword that was now strapped near to hand, nor the balanced poise she showed, ready to bring it to bear. He took a little pride in having helped her acquire those, nonetheless, though he wondered sometimes how much Wolf's input in those lessons had helped.
Her night-blue hair was still kept tugged back in two braids from her temple - too inviting a hand-hold in close quarters, he now realised, looking at it. Her pearlescent skin still carried the slight azure hue - a little more pronounced now with the flush of battle approaching - and even the changes in her clothing didn't account for it.
It had been in the sapphire blue of her eyes as she'd looked up slightly to pass him the orb - she was ready to fight, now. Nodding with the slightest of smiles, he stepped towards her slowly, reaching behind his neck to strip away the thin leather cord with which he'd tied his own hair back into a small tail.
"Here." he offered, holding out both hands with a slight smile, the cord first. "You'll need to keep your hair out of grasping hands... I don't know if this will help.
And..." - he eased the other hand forward, the black sphere settled in the midst of his calloused palm - "It's not the magic... not just the magic.... I don't think either of us is the sort to hide in the shadows, really... are we? Perhaps it best if you give this back to Ebri? Or to Kale or Burl, perhaps."
Bloody chicken-brained man, Mel thought wryly. This was not a time to argue, however, so she accepted the orb reluctantly, murmuring, "Don't you make me regret taking this back."
On the other hand she wasn't sure what to make of being offered a hairband as a protective measure before a battle. Was he being cute, or was he mocking her? She decided to take the gesture at face value, offered as candidly as it was, and pulled her hair back into a snug ponytail before setting off. Let him laugh, since that seemed like his way of dealing with battle-tension.
A surreptitious glance told her Ebri Zol had not noticed her mysterious gift changing hands. There will be a lot of explaining, if we all survive this, and not just from the lich, Mel decided, uncharacteristically willing at the moment to let a few details slide and stay focused on the dire task at hand.
* * *
Wyshira felt her face flush grayish-blue. Anger churned inside her, building in strength, finding no outlet. The accursed Hashrukkites were corrupting the air! They had summoned some foul outsider - a devil, a defiler - and planned to augment its powers somehow with the strange umbral machinery of the tower. The very idea was unthinkable, unbelievable really. Except that Wyshira knew that the earth had already been partially corrupted - Cord had felt it in his bones as he'd walked the land of the Drakkath. If Earth could be perverted, then so too could Air.
Ishrak, Lady of Storms, goddess of Water and Air, please help us!
Sebastian laid a hand gently on her shoulder, stilling the torrent of emotions that whirled inside her, at least for the moment. Yes of course, almost everyone here was ready to do what they could to stop the Hashrukkite plot. She was glad to know that she had many allies close at hand.
But first they must talk. And talk some more. Wyshira grew impatient, especially with Kale and his bargaining. She stood with her arms folded across her chest, her eyes cast upwards as if calling on the gods to give her strength. She did not look at all like her usual self: she was tense and restless, her normally serene brow darkening like storm clouds in the winter sky.
* * *
Great Prophet, Ebri prayed, deeming this an appropriate moment for that, as you have led your servant this far, lead her still. Let this creature of flesh prove worthy of your Purpose. Lead her beyond light and darkness to Truth...
Before the words finished sounding in her mind, her magically enhanced hearing picked up the low exchange between Melisande and Sebastion. She did not turn, but waited tensely for a moment, wondering if she would have to intervene in what seemed to be a significantly private moment. Fortunately, the soldier gave the shadowskin back, relieving her concern.
There is no one to be concerned for me... she reflected, now. Like so much else, this set her apart from other people. No one would grieve for her passing, and the thought did not distress her. Far from it; had she felt anything about this isolated state of hers, it was most likely a sort of pride. I have put aside all that which previously chained me to this illusory sordid world. And my brethren will rejoice that I acted in obedience to the Prophet's ends. What more could be wished?
It was not that she doubted that the bonds that existed between lesser individuals were real or useful; indeed, she had both suspected and confirmed
by observations that such emotional connections - love, friendship, trust, oaths, indebtedness, and the like-- were quite useful, bringing strength, motivation, and perseverance to those who needed such things.
But she, to put it simply, did not. And never had, that she could recall. In her living memory, there had never been a time that she had needed something that she could not provide of her own action or choice. And that being the case, bonds with others were yet one more limitation, one more opaque curtain drawn between oneself and Reality.
So comforted, she focused her awareness, readied her body and her weapons, and indicated that she was prepared to move on as well.
* * *
Meg'anna simply nodded at the steel creature's explanation of why he could not defeat the cultists beneath his tower, yet it still wore on her that a wizard capable of weaving magics to bind himself to machinery could not overcome the spellcastings of lesser zealots. Still, it sounded somewhat honest, and though he was a machine, Meg would have to let it go at that. Her main concern then changed to that of having the vile manipulator with her party.
She knew that the others might have some reservations about the man, but there was somethings that she could not simply abide. Perhaps the foul creator would be killed in the ensuing battle, perhaps she would strike him while they fought, whatever the outcome of the next fight, the Manipulator would not see the light of sun again, she would make sure of that, even at the cost of her life.
Hopefully the Toranite would perish too, but that was truely asking for a miracle. With any luck, her party would survive to deal with him later. She now needed to deal with augmenting those whom needed it for the upcoming battle. Her main problem was letting those who might benefit from her spellcastings know about it.
I believe that Kale relies on his agility rather than brute strength. Perhaps Sebastion does as well. It is rather difficult to tell which might benefit from my enhancement more. Perhaps I should merely cast it upon myself. Perhaps it is simply better if I have someone ask for me.
Scribling on her pad once again, and letting those in the company see what was written there, Meg'anna hoped to find out who might benefit from the spell she had in mind. Written upon the pad:
"I have the power to augment one's personal strength above normal,
though it comes at a penalty to one's agility.
The lasts for some time, so I should think that it would be useful for any here.
Is there someone whom would reap the benefits from such before we leave?"
* * *
They began final preparations for the descent. Johanne gripped the scroll Burl had given him tightly in one hand, weaving another mage armour spell over himself to ensure he was well-protected from what was to come. Jarvis checked his weapons and tightened the straps that held his short blades. Burl shifted uneasily in his dark, nondescript clothes, making sure his wands and scrolls were close to hand before giving Melisande the Fire Serpent rod at her request. "Well, it is yours after all," the necromancer said as he handed it over to her.
Gaethras the manipulator too was running his hands over his bandolier of spellc components and vials, pausing to reapply a thick, slimy poison to the tips of the crossbow bolts he carried and tightening the string of the mechanised weapon he carried. "Hiern, keep close to me," he said quietly to the Carthagian mage-captain, who cast mage armour over both himself and his superior in preparation. Gaethras didn't seem to issue any orders to the hulking Toranite though, who simply paused to clean off some of the gore that still adhered to his heavy, viciously barbed mace, the jagged metal spines glitning with crimson stains as he set about it. A few straps tightened and armour plates shifted, and the warrior seemed ready to go once more despite the wounds he had suffered from the monstrous girallon before.
Johanne walked over stiffly to Cazamir, signs of pain flickering across his face with every step as he propped up his weight with his staff. "The armouring spell we cast on you earlier should still be fine, Cazamir, so hopefully it will help ward off the Hashrukkites. You, and you," he said, nodding at Jarvis, "shouldn't be too worried about protecting me now. This is more important than unearthing lore about a dead civilisation for the guilds back in Adbar. These Hashrukkites pose s serious threat to a lot of people, though I fear this may only be a fraction of their plans. I never expected to be facing daemons and veils when I started on this expedition," he said with a strained laugh. "Nor to be talking with metal men or fighting beholders crafted from crystal. But here I am. You know, whatever happens here, I can't help but feel at least I'll have done something worthwhile in fighting the cult of the Daemonflesh rather than picking up pieces of the past. I'll try and give what spell support I can if we...when we end up fighting, but I've gone through most of my repertoire today already." He brandished the fireball scroll. "Not completely toothless yet though."
“Johanne,” Cazamir said, sparing a look at Jarvis, “Hashrukkites or not, I am duty-bound to protect you on this journey. The daemon cultists must be destroyed, and we will see to that, but it should not stop us from seeing you out of this tower.”
* * *
They began the descent, walking through dusty corridors of stone and metal through which gashes of light filtered from outside, sparkling on the motes drifting through the air. Through halls held high by creaking metal girders they passed, down spiralling stairs, through dark passageways and heavy, mechanised doors of brass and iron. Strange paraphernalia of the Umbrals lay scattered here and there; strange pieces of armour that were not shaped for human forms, tattered, motheaten and faded banners and tapestries hanging lifelessly, bizarre and alien pieces of metal inscribed with ancient Drakkath language. Johanne's eyes sparkled with interest as he saw these relics, but they had not the time to look at them closely.
They were taking a different path down that the one through which they had ascended in the first place, and it led them through a room into which a nest of thrumming copper pipes tangled, past a dark room which looked like a barracks in which rusted iron frameworks hitned at what had been furniture. One echoing, ancient space had clearly been an armoury, a mass of rusted weaponry piled up against the walls. Mighty swords and axes of exotic design, heavy crossbow-like mechanims that sprouted vicious barbs, large and fanged glaives and spears, and more besides.
As they moved, Ansas'Turi, who had tried to stay out of harms way throughout the battle at the summit and had been quiet, though amazed, during following events in the heights of the tower, now quickened her strides to keep apace of the tall steamwork lich, the metal trinkets in her hair clamouring at her speed. "Sir thaumineer," she began deferentially, "I am an Ironjack, from across the seas. Our people have been chased out of our ancestral lands and fled to those of your kin, and I have to admit that we expected little in the way of mechanical knowledge here. It... surprises me to see such advanced handiwork as your own - we have never managed anything so intricate, so... advanced as your steel form! Our mechanists work towards melding flesh with metal but even they are not so skilled as to manage a complete transfer of conciousness. Perhaps, after this is over, we might speka of such things?" she asked eagerly.
"Ironjacks. I have heard of your people, in my studies. Perhaps we can discuss after the Hashrukkites have been dealt with."
"These... Hashrukkites..." Ansas'Turi continued, "I know of the clashes between the Elders and the Youngers in the Dawn War, and that these cultists worship one of the foul Elders. I know little of the culst of the ancient gods though, for we have had little contact with them in Avoria. What troubles me though is something I heard mentioned earlier - that their idol is called the Daemonflesh?" she asked tentatively.
Jarvis, padding quietly along nearby, broke in with an answer. "He is indeed - Hashrukk, the Daemonflesh. One of the foulest of the mad ancients - they say his form is that of formlessness, just a mas of insane, oozing flesh. He's the source of monstrosities and the foulest abberations like the dreadspawn - I'm surprised the Carthagians," he nodded, spitting the words venomously as he indicated the Carthagian trio with the band, "weren't quicker to answer since Hashrukk's right up their avenue. It's common rumour that the manipulators offer prayers to the Daemonflesh, after all." Clearly the Naserian had little like of the Carthagians.
"It worries me, you see, because the Sanguinials, the scourge of my people, spoke of the Daemonflesh with reverence..." the Ironjack said quietly.
* * *
They made their way further down, reaching the nexus room at the top of the main staircase, the door swigning open willingly before the touch of the steamwork lich. One of the other doors, that which the party had passed through earlier to access the room in which the crystal eye had lain, still stood wide open, and the iron lich seemed to give an almost... longing look in that direction, valves and pistons giving off a hissing sigh of steam. "The crystal eye would have been useful..." he said in as wistful a tone as his mechanical voice could inflect.
Down the creaking staircase they went, seemingly hanging in the darkness of the huge central chamber of the tower as they descended. Then they reached the point where the staircase met the ground floor. Around them, the metal surface stretched away to the distant walls of the chamber. Before them, the stairs continued down, the darkness yawning ominously open.
They went down, into the shadow, to meet whatever awaited them below.
* * * * * *
Next Time: Chapter 2 - The Shadows Beneath
It was all so surreal. They'd be the disparate band venturing deep into the iron bowels of an ancient tower to rout the evils of an elder horror. Hired by a dead man. Allied with freaky zealots in black armor. Certainly the holy purple monkey men would soon make their entrance and save the day. The merchant lifestyle felt more and more appealing to Kale.
But the beat goes on. "We cannot allow the vile Hashrukkites to corrupt the air of the Drakkath." For all his moonbat-itude, the armored man spoke wisdom for once. Kale wondered if he should mention to the man that his armor might get rusted solid during the ensuing combat. We'll see. His mind wondered to the Toranite band they'd encountered months ago... Burl was surely still a draw for these men, even if this one didn't seem to recognize the dark mage... Thoughts of factions and secret agendas spun in Kale's mind.
"It is to no-one's benefit at all for cultists of Elder Gods to gain power and influence." The words did not sooth. The bloody Manipulator seemed amenable as well. Kale believed the robed man about as far as he could throw him.
It was nice that the dead man would go down to help, as well- also convenient for him that he had very little combat magic. When everyone under the sun was signing up for the altruistic mission, it sure seemed the kindly homeowner was getting off awfully light.
Kale spoke up, and said something to that effect. "Everyone under the sun is signing up for this altruistic mission," Kale said sardonically from behind Gaethras and his Toranite buddy. He regretted speaking up from the relative anonymity of the corner, but it was negotiations time. "But it sure seems the kindly homeowner is getting off awfully light."
Kale didn't like that the man-machine's lifeless orbs, along with every other eye in the room, were now on him. Regardless, he forged ahead. "It's a tragedy, the destruction brought to this tower, your home," Kale sympathized with the undead mechanized mage-lich. Suppressing a shiver, he continued. "I'm sure you would be grateful for our help in ridding your tower from these pests," talking about like a rat extermination made it seem for the moment a somewhat possible task. Air devil. Gave a new meaning to ‘What the hell?’ "But when we're not out saving the world, we all have day jobs." Sarcasm multiplied as the absurdity grew. Kale paused while he got a hold of himself. For the last few days, everything felt like futility. With effort, he let the emotions drain from his thoughts. He took a calm breath of iron-tang air.
"When this task is completed," Kale resisted saying 'if',"We’ve helped you, you can help us... we all come off the better. I am seeking the secrets of thaumineering. This one here is an Ironjack pursuing her trade..." He intentionally skipped the rest of his crew with a slight and respectful nod to Melisande and Sebastion. We’ll leave them to pursue their ‘hidden agendas’ without help or disclosure. Let the Carthagians chew on that one. Let Gaethras guess any other conspiracy he can think of, so long as he doesn’t guess the truth. Kale continued smoothly "These sages seek the ancient lore of Umbramancy." He turned at last to the Manipulator and his minion, mission unknown. "While Gaethras and Skippy over here..."
Kale couldn't resist taking a dig at the Toranite warrior. He hoped the man fumed under that black helmet. The armored hulk was just like those cocky blowhards on the practice field- always quick to delight in pounding a lesser foe, then even quicker to cry foul when the small guy broke the rules. I’m making the rules now: either declare your intentions for all to hear, or expect no cooperation or obligation to help you once the Hashrukites are sent back where they came from. You and your buddy can try to take what you want, but between my crew and the mechanical mage… He hoped that baiting the Toranite warrior would take the attention off the barely-hidden fact that he had no idea what the Carthagians were up to.
The young mercenary looked squarely at the Toranite zealot. This wasn’t like the practice field- the black armored man could pound him for sure. Kale didn’t budge. Here’s another rule: you’re ugly. That, as his sarcastic friends on the Academy Green would have pointed out, wasn’t actually a rule at all. But it sounded cool to him. If only he’d said it. No, things were very different this time.
He waited for reactions to his proposition. The idea was intriguing, one Kale hoped would work out in one way or another. When they walked in the room, they were a small band with two possible enemy forces, no way to achieve their objective, and a crazy cult surging up to kill them. As Kale spoke, he pondered the new possibilities. Kale gets help sharing thaumaneering secrets. Anas'Turi learns more about ironjacking... which she subsequently shares with kind old Kale and Ecurius out of the goodness of her heart... and an offer from Ecurius to help her people settle. Johanne would learn his Umbramancy, whom the amenable and friendly man would share with his saviors with just a bit of ego stroking. They may even glean some clues to the intrigue going on all about the lands. Lastly, and most delectably, they might get a good hint into what in the world the Manipulators and Toranites are up to. Win, win, win, win, win. Were even one of these scenarios to fall Kale's way, he would be pleased. All that was left was the ‘crazy cult surging up to kill them’.
The heavily-armoured Toranite didn't seem to pay any attention to Kale's barbed words, though it was hard to tell under all that black and red metal. The thaumineer-lich, however, entirely crafted from metal, seemed more responsive. "I can provide you with such information as I have about what knowledge you seek, indeed, if you can stop the Hashrukkites from corrupting the tower and engaging the emitter. Certainly, should they manage to do so and extend the devil's evil wide and far, I don't know if you would manage to make it far enough away before succumbing to the changed Air. Now, perhaps we should proceed to the subterranean levels of the tower, to ensure that such does not come to pass."
Kale was quiet for once. He nodded simply, as the gravity of the situation sunk in. This was much worse than saving some village in Adbar. Much more was at stake. And if death was certain then, the cost of failure here had multiplied beyond what any one person should be responsible. Or any group of people. Notwithstanding the Toranite warrior who paid him less than no heed, the machine-mage who cheated death, or even Sebastion, who took a rather unadorned view towards his antics. The young mercenary had counted many times on appearing small and unnoteworthy; in the mage's tower that moment he felt quite small indeed.
Stubbornly, he refused to let reality get the best of him: he had lied to Fate plenty of times in the past. Maybe she won't catch on... Kale hoped simply, like a toddler willing himself invisible enough to sneak another cookie from under mother's eye.
* * *
Seperated from the discussions by his previous vigil over the door, Sebastion snorted disgust at Kale's tactic, and quickly covered the reaction by hastily drawing the pistols from his belt and beginning the task of checking they were loaded correctly. Whatever the soundbite-soldier was up to - and despite his ability with the Brineblade Sebastion's firmly held contention was still that Kale talked a better fight than he ever had any chance of actually putting up - facts were facts.
Death was coming, riding side-saddle on her three-headed skeletal wolf, and she'd be feasting for a while tonight. The pistols were ready, the sheathes on his blades were loosed but not ready to fall, and he turned to checking the links in his armour as he shrugged his shoulders to releave the tension.
This, his father had said, was the Hour of the Dog. Battle was due, and swords would be crossed. The field was set, the armies in place, and all that was left was for the blood to be spilt, and fate and luck to favour the bold. It made the hairs on the back of the neck stand up, a dog's hackles sounding warning that war was approaching...
* * *
Melisande was not paying much attention by the time Kale started to try to bargain with the lich. It was good to have someone so practical-minded on hand, when there were other, larger things to consider, like arcane nodes and entropic magic. So much to ponder, and so little time for questions or research!
It looked like they were about to descend into pandemonium again with but the vaguest of notions what they were up against. Last time it had been a cult of Gilamesh, and Mel shuddered to recall the unexpectedly powerful magic unleashed by the priest Cancer then; now it was Hashrukk, and she refused to allow her imagination to speculate on what deadly surprises the disease-cultists and their demon would have waiting. So entropic magic could accelerate the oxidation of metal--what else could it do? The Hashrukkite thaumineer would have to be the group's first target.
Suddenly out of her ruminations she heard Kale call the Toranite priest "Skippy" and began to wonder what she'd missed. But before a giggle could make its way out, she saw Sebastion grimly checking his pistols and all desire to laugh instantly evaporated.
He was probably about to die. Of course, since they met there was rarely a moment when he was not likely to die, but that didn't make it any easier on Mel. On an impulse she went to him, turning herself to shield what she was doing from Ebri Zol's perspective, and drew out the strange, dark orb the priestess had given her. Mel had no idea what it did, but she did suspect Ebri Zol had some hidden, profound interest in keeping her alive. Furtively, she handed it to Sebastion.
"I know you hate magic, but please use this if things get bad." She tried to smile and failed.
Staring at the orb for a moment, wondering if he was imagining the black swirls gradually circling over the black surface between pools of black, Sebastion blinked once, twice, and pulled his gaze away back to where Mel was now making an offer of magical assistance through invisibility spells from the centre of the room. Reaching over his shoulder, he slipped the last of his axes into place in their rack on his back, and settled his shoulders slightly, calming himself once more, despite the continued headache that just wouldn't quite seem to go away.
Casually, unconsciously, flicking the black orb from hand to hand, he stood back a little and watched Mel for a moment.
She's.... grown? he thought to himself. It wasn't just the change of the spear she used to carry for the sword that was now strapped near to hand, nor the balanced poise she showed, ready to bring it to bear. He took a little pride in having helped her acquire those, nonetheless, though he wondered sometimes how much Wolf's input in those lessons had helped.
Her night-blue hair was still kept tugged back in two braids from her temple - too inviting a hand-hold in close quarters, he now realised, looking at it. Her pearlescent skin still carried the slight azure hue - a little more pronounced now with the flush of battle approaching - and even the changes in her clothing didn't account for it.
It had been in the sapphire blue of her eyes as she'd looked up slightly to pass him the orb - she was ready to fight, now. Nodding with the slightest of smiles, he stepped towards her slowly, reaching behind his neck to strip away the thin leather cord with which he'd tied his own hair back into a small tail.
"Here." he offered, holding out both hands with a slight smile, the cord first. "You'll need to keep your hair out of grasping hands... I don't know if this will help.
And..." - he eased the other hand forward, the black sphere settled in the midst of his calloused palm - "It's not the magic... not just the magic.... I don't think either of us is the sort to hide in the shadows, really... are we? Perhaps it best if you give this back to Ebri? Or to Kale or Burl, perhaps."
Bloody chicken-brained man, Mel thought wryly. This was not a time to argue, however, so she accepted the orb reluctantly, murmuring, "Don't you make me regret taking this back."
On the other hand she wasn't sure what to make of being offered a hairband as a protective measure before a battle. Was he being cute, or was he mocking her? She decided to take the gesture at face value, offered as candidly as it was, and pulled her hair back into a snug ponytail before setting off. Let him laugh, since that seemed like his way of dealing with battle-tension.
A surreptitious glance told her Ebri Zol had not noticed her mysterious gift changing hands. There will be a lot of explaining, if we all survive this, and not just from the lich, Mel decided, uncharacteristically willing at the moment to let a few details slide and stay focused on the dire task at hand.
* * *
Wyshira felt her face flush grayish-blue. Anger churned inside her, building in strength, finding no outlet. The accursed Hashrukkites were corrupting the air! They had summoned some foul outsider - a devil, a defiler - and planned to augment its powers somehow with the strange umbral machinery of the tower. The very idea was unthinkable, unbelievable really. Except that Wyshira knew that the earth had already been partially corrupted - Cord had felt it in his bones as he'd walked the land of the Drakkath. If Earth could be perverted, then so too could Air.
Ishrak, Lady of Storms, goddess of Water and Air, please help us!
Sebastian laid a hand gently on her shoulder, stilling the torrent of emotions that whirled inside her, at least for the moment. Yes of course, almost everyone here was ready to do what they could to stop the Hashrukkite plot. She was glad to know that she had many allies close at hand.
But first they must talk. And talk some more. Wyshira grew impatient, especially with Kale and his bargaining. She stood with her arms folded across her chest, her eyes cast upwards as if calling on the gods to give her strength. She did not look at all like her usual self: she was tense and restless, her normally serene brow darkening like storm clouds in the winter sky.
* * *
Great Prophet, Ebri prayed, deeming this an appropriate moment for that, as you have led your servant this far, lead her still. Let this creature of flesh prove worthy of your Purpose. Lead her beyond light and darkness to Truth...
Before the words finished sounding in her mind, her magically enhanced hearing picked up the low exchange between Melisande and Sebastion. She did not turn, but waited tensely for a moment, wondering if she would have to intervene in what seemed to be a significantly private moment. Fortunately, the soldier gave the shadowskin back, relieving her concern.
There is no one to be concerned for me... she reflected, now. Like so much else, this set her apart from other people. No one would grieve for her passing, and the thought did not distress her. Far from it; had she felt anything about this isolated state of hers, it was most likely a sort of pride. I have put aside all that which previously chained me to this illusory sordid world. And my brethren will rejoice that I acted in obedience to the Prophet's ends. What more could be wished?
It was not that she doubted that the bonds that existed between lesser individuals were real or useful; indeed, she had both suspected and confirmed
by observations that such emotional connections - love, friendship, trust, oaths, indebtedness, and the like-- were quite useful, bringing strength, motivation, and perseverance to those who needed such things.
But she, to put it simply, did not. And never had, that she could recall. In her living memory, there had never been a time that she had needed something that she could not provide of her own action or choice. And that being the case, bonds with others were yet one more limitation, one more opaque curtain drawn between oneself and Reality.
So comforted, she focused her awareness, readied her body and her weapons, and indicated that she was prepared to move on as well.
* * *
Meg'anna simply nodded at the steel creature's explanation of why he could not defeat the cultists beneath his tower, yet it still wore on her that a wizard capable of weaving magics to bind himself to machinery could not overcome the spellcastings of lesser zealots. Still, it sounded somewhat honest, and though he was a machine, Meg would have to let it go at that. Her main concern then changed to that of having the vile manipulator with her party.
She knew that the others might have some reservations about the man, but there was somethings that she could not simply abide. Perhaps the foul creator would be killed in the ensuing battle, perhaps she would strike him while they fought, whatever the outcome of the next fight, the Manipulator would not see the light of sun again, she would make sure of that, even at the cost of her life.
Hopefully the Toranite would perish too, but that was truely asking for a miracle. With any luck, her party would survive to deal with him later. She now needed to deal with augmenting those whom needed it for the upcoming battle. Her main problem was letting those who might benefit from her spellcastings know about it.
I believe that Kale relies on his agility rather than brute strength. Perhaps Sebastion does as well. It is rather difficult to tell which might benefit from my enhancement more. Perhaps I should merely cast it upon myself. Perhaps it is simply better if I have someone ask for me.
Scribling on her pad once again, and letting those in the company see what was written there, Meg'anna hoped to find out who might benefit from the spell she had in mind. Written upon the pad:
"I have the power to augment one's personal strength above normal,
though it comes at a penalty to one's agility.
The lasts for some time, so I should think that it would be useful for any here.
Is there someone whom would reap the benefits from such before we leave?"
* * *
They began final preparations for the descent. Johanne gripped the scroll Burl had given him tightly in one hand, weaving another mage armour spell over himself to ensure he was well-protected from what was to come. Jarvis checked his weapons and tightened the straps that held his short blades. Burl shifted uneasily in his dark, nondescript clothes, making sure his wands and scrolls were close to hand before giving Melisande the Fire Serpent rod at her request. "Well, it is yours after all," the necromancer said as he handed it over to her.
Gaethras the manipulator too was running his hands over his bandolier of spellc components and vials, pausing to reapply a thick, slimy poison to the tips of the crossbow bolts he carried and tightening the string of the mechanised weapon he carried. "Hiern, keep close to me," he said quietly to the Carthagian mage-captain, who cast mage armour over both himself and his superior in preparation. Gaethras didn't seem to issue any orders to the hulking Toranite though, who simply paused to clean off some of the gore that still adhered to his heavy, viciously barbed mace, the jagged metal spines glitning with crimson stains as he set about it. A few straps tightened and armour plates shifted, and the warrior seemed ready to go once more despite the wounds he had suffered from the monstrous girallon before.
Johanne walked over stiffly to Cazamir, signs of pain flickering across his face with every step as he propped up his weight with his staff. "The armouring spell we cast on you earlier should still be fine, Cazamir, so hopefully it will help ward off the Hashrukkites. You, and you," he said, nodding at Jarvis, "shouldn't be too worried about protecting me now. This is more important than unearthing lore about a dead civilisation for the guilds back in Adbar. These Hashrukkites pose s serious threat to a lot of people, though I fear this may only be a fraction of their plans. I never expected to be facing daemons and veils when I started on this expedition," he said with a strained laugh. "Nor to be talking with metal men or fighting beholders crafted from crystal. But here I am. You know, whatever happens here, I can't help but feel at least I'll have done something worthwhile in fighting the cult of the Daemonflesh rather than picking up pieces of the past. I'll try and give what spell support I can if we...when we end up fighting, but I've gone through most of my repertoire today already." He brandished the fireball scroll. "Not completely toothless yet though."
“Johanne,” Cazamir said, sparing a look at Jarvis, “Hashrukkites or not, I am duty-bound to protect you on this journey. The daemon cultists must be destroyed, and we will see to that, but it should not stop us from seeing you out of this tower.”
* * *
They began the descent, walking through dusty corridors of stone and metal through which gashes of light filtered from outside, sparkling on the motes drifting through the air. Through halls held high by creaking metal girders they passed, down spiralling stairs, through dark passageways and heavy, mechanised doors of brass and iron. Strange paraphernalia of the Umbrals lay scattered here and there; strange pieces of armour that were not shaped for human forms, tattered, motheaten and faded banners and tapestries hanging lifelessly, bizarre and alien pieces of metal inscribed with ancient Drakkath language. Johanne's eyes sparkled with interest as he saw these relics, but they had not the time to look at them closely.
They were taking a different path down that the one through which they had ascended in the first place, and it led them through a room into which a nest of thrumming copper pipes tangled, past a dark room which looked like a barracks in which rusted iron frameworks hitned at what had been furniture. One echoing, ancient space had clearly been an armoury, a mass of rusted weaponry piled up against the walls. Mighty swords and axes of exotic design, heavy crossbow-like mechanims that sprouted vicious barbs, large and fanged glaives and spears, and more besides.
As they moved, Ansas'Turi, who had tried to stay out of harms way throughout the battle at the summit and had been quiet, though amazed, during following events in the heights of the tower, now quickened her strides to keep apace of the tall steamwork lich, the metal trinkets in her hair clamouring at her speed. "Sir thaumineer," she began deferentially, "I am an Ironjack, from across the seas. Our people have been chased out of our ancestral lands and fled to those of your kin, and I have to admit that we expected little in the way of mechanical knowledge here. It... surprises me to see such advanced handiwork as your own - we have never managed anything so intricate, so... advanced as your steel form! Our mechanists work towards melding flesh with metal but even they are not so skilled as to manage a complete transfer of conciousness. Perhaps, after this is over, we might speka of such things?" she asked eagerly.
"Ironjacks. I have heard of your people, in my studies. Perhaps we can discuss after the Hashrukkites have been dealt with."
"These... Hashrukkites..." Ansas'Turi continued, "I know of the clashes between the Elders and the Youngers in the Dawn War, and that these cultists worship one of the foul Elders. I know little of the culst of the ancient gods though, for we have had little contact with them in Avoria. What troubles me though is something I heard mentioned earlier - that their idol is called the Daemonflesh?" she asked tentatively.
Jarvis, padding quietly along nearby, broke in with an answer. "He is indeed - Hashrukk, the Daemonflesh. One of the foulest of the mad ancients - they say his form is that of formlessness, just a mas of insane, oozing flesh. He's the source of monstrosities and the foulest abberations like the dreadspawn - I'm surprised the Carthagians," he nodded, spitting the words venomously as he indicated the Carthagian trio with the band, "weren't quicker to answer since Hashrukk's right up their avenue. It's common rumour that the manipulators offer prayers to the Daemonflesh, after all." Clearly the Naserian had little like of the Carthagians.
"It worries me, you see, because the Sanguinials, the scourge of my people, spoke of the Daemonflesh with reverence..." the Ironjack said quietly.
* * *
They made their way further down, reaching the nexus room at the top of the main staircase, the door swigning open willingly before the touch of the steamwork lich. One of the other doors, that which the party had passed through earlier to access the room in which the crystal eye had lain, still stood wide open, and the iron lich seemed to give an almost... longing look in that direction, valves and pistons giving off a hissing sigh of steam. "The crystal eye would have been useful..." he said in as wistful a tone as his mechanical voice could inflect.
Down the creaking staircase they went, seemingly hanging in the darkness of the huge central chamber of the tower as they descended. Then they reached the point where the staircase met the ground floor. Around them, the metal surface stretched away to the distant walls of the chamber. Before them, the stairs continued down, the darkness yawning ominously open.
They went down, into the shadow, to meet whatever awaited them below.
* * * * * *
Next Time: Chapter 2 - The Shadows Beneath
Angcuru
First Post
Yay!
ENJOY YOUR NON-BROKEN SELVES WHILE YOU CAN MUAHAHA!
Lots of introspection on the players' parts is good, but I must say that having too much of it takes away from the value of introspection in general. Just for once I'd like to see Ebri say "Y'know, today I feel like killing something without writing extensive notes for my memoirs at the same time." And I'm wondering where Kale has gone to. (referring to the PBP) Cazamir, too. Have you contacted the players at all? Or does it seem as though they have dropped off the face of Acrozatarim?
ENJOY YOUR NON-BROKEN SELVES WHILE YOU CAN MUAHAHA!
Lots of introspection on the players' parts is good, but I must say that having too much of it takes away from the value of introspection in general. Just for once I'd like to see Ebri say "Y'know, today I feel like killing something without writing extensive notes for my memoirs at the same time." And I'm wondering where Kale has gone to. (referring to the PBP) Cazamir, too. Have you contacted the players at all? Or does it seem as though they have dropped off the face of Acrozatarim?
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Carnifex
First Post
Angcuru said:Yay!
ENJOY YOUR NON-BROKEN SELVES WHILE YOU CAN MUAHAHA!
Lots of introspection on the players' parts is good, but I must say that having too much of it takes away from the value of introspection in general. Just for once I'd like to see Ebri say "Y'know, today I feel like killing something without writing extensive notes for my memoirs at the same time." And I'm wondering where Kale has gone to. (referring to the PBP) Cazamir, too. Have you contacted the players at all? Or does it seem as though they have dropped off the face of Acrozatarim?
You have to remember that Ebri is a zealot and not particularly mentally stable, hence all the introspection
Cazamir and Kale - well, I'll wait until later in the SH to reveal what has befallen them
Broccli_Head
Explorer
Angcuru said:Have you contacted the players at all? Or does it seem as though they have dropped off the face of Acrozatarim?
It doesn't matter where they've gone! It doesn't matter who they are!
All that matters is that the Storm approaches and you better be prepared for the carnage.
