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DM Brainiac's Prison of the Firebringer (Updated 12/21/05)
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<blockquote data-quote="ltclnlbrain" data-source="post: 2360078" data-attributes="member: 12882"><p><strong>Chapter 35</strong> </p><p></p><p>Latona was quite rural, backwater some might say, with little in the way of development. Its architectural style was one of function more than floweriness, and it was very blocky and efficient when compared to the graceful majesty of Silverymoon. The citizens, mostly human and halfling, moved about with a slow, almost lazy gait, as if they had all the time in the world.</p><p></p><p>Taigiel cast an apprehensive glance around, shifting uncomfortably. "I hope this disguise will be enough," he said. "This will be the first time I'll be able to walk openly through the streets of a city without leaving a trail of fear and scorn in my wake." </p><p></p><p>"Do not worry, Taigiel," Rumar said, waving a hand dismissively. "I find it unlikely that you will attract much attention. After all, what reason would the guards have to consider yet another random traveler? So long as you simply are careful and consider your actions first I am certain we will pull through just fine." </p><p></p><p>"Let us see if we can find somebody who might have news of the region," said Terenon.</p><p></p><p>"I'm going to see what shrines or temples are here," said Rhys. "Perhaps I'll be able to find out something there or just tend to any people who need some care."</p><p></p><p>"I think I'll go with you," said Jelani. Rhys and Allanon similarly voiced their assent.</p><p></p><p>"Alright," said Grundar. "Terenon and I will take Taigiel and see what we can find. We'll meet back here in two hours."</p><p></p><p>----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------</p><p></p><p>The temple district of Latona was rather small and quaint, barely befitting the name of "district." A few blocks away from city hall stood the city's only two temples: the larger dedicated to Lathander, the Morninglord, and the other to Tyr, God of Justice. Each was of a decent size, though not many people lingered about them.</p><p></p><p>Rhys lead his companions into the temple of Tyr. The interior of the temple wais rather modest, and a few acolytes moved about the main chamber on various errands. Their inquiries were directed to a priestess by the name of Willema Undarn, a plain, stocky woman with graying hair and a stern expression. "How may I be of assistance?" she asked simply. </p><p></p><p>"Mistress Undarn," Rhys said warmly. "I'm Rhys Thurn, a priest of Torm, may his blessings help all in need. These with me are my good friends and valued compnions Allanon, Jelani, and Rumar. We've only arrived here but an short while ago. I'd like to ask you questions about Latona and the area around it, if you'd be so inclined."</p><p></p><p>Willema smiled politely and nodded at the adventurers. "I'll do my best to answer whatever I can."</p><p></p><p>"Well, truth be told, our primary concern is the white dragon Acessiwal. Do you know much about him?"</p><p></p><p>Willema frowned a bit. "I'm afraid not. I've heard the name mentioned a few times here and there. Supposed to be really big and mean, but we've not seen the likes of him around these parts. Perhaps a sage like Lasom the Large might know more."</p><p></p><p>"We will seek him out shortly then." Rhys paused a bit, frowning. A nagging sensation of doubt still tickled the back of his mind, doubt over Oftir. He felt compelled to follow up on his suspicions. "We met a group of travelers on the way here. Their spokesman, a man calling himself Oftir, said that they hailed from the other side of the Spine of the World. He said that they were coming here to start a new life. What stories could they have heard that would promt them to undertake such a hazardous journey?"</p><p></p><p>Willema looked a bit puzzled by the question. Rumar coughed with a little embarrassment at Rhys' question. Raising one finger in polite request for a moment from Willema, he moved over to Rhys and pulled him a few steps away.</p><p></p><p>"Perhaps you should stop being so blunt in your investigations of Oftir," he said quietly to the priest, a tipped smile resting on his face. "To be honest, we've yet to see any proof that he is remotely dangerous or evil. Don't you think it's slightly possible he's merely a wanderer? I mean, this town had to have been formed by precisely the same sort of people - those interested in merely putting as much distance between them and their old life."</p><p></p><p>"After all, the reverse would imply that he's some sort of terribly clever arch-villain with the ability to completely mask his true identity and the resources to set up such an elaborate and more than a little needlessly complicated plot. Not that I'm saying it's impossible," Rumar added reluctantly, "merely that it seems rather unlikely so far." </p><p></p><p>Rhys looked at Rumar for a long moment, then finally let out a sigh. "You're correct," he said at last before turning back to Willema. "Mistress, I apologize for my unjustified implications, and I thank you for your time. We will see what we can learn at the Temple of the Morninglord.</p><p></p><p>----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------</p><p></p><p>Oftir nervously wiped at his greasy hair as he waited in the shadows of a building near the outskirts of the town. He had dropped the facade of the old missionary conjured by his magical hat, revealing a tall man with sunken eyes and craven features. He giggled to himself with excitement. Not only had me made contact with the great Acessiwal, the dragon had actually <em>responded</em> to him! It was almost too good to be true. The wyrm had told him to wait here to meet one of his agents, who would exchange the location of the adventurers for directions on how to get to Coldheart and join his new master in his demesne. So the Cyricist waited now for said agent to arrive.</p><p></p><p>A whisper of movement beside him startled him, and he nearly screamed in surprise as a beautiful half-elven woman seemed to materialize out of the shadows. The woman wore close-fitting black clothing and smiled slightly, her lips twitching in what Oftir took to be amusement. "You are Oftir?" she asked. </p><p></p><p>The priest struggled to regain his dignity. "Yes, yes, I am." He regarded her coolly, though his eyes were drawn to her physical assets. "You serve Acessiwal, then?"</p><p></p><p>"I serve many masters, as long as they can afford me," the woman replied. "But my only true loyalty is to myself." The half-elf's eyes bored into Oftir's, and the priest felt as if she were looking past them, probing his mind for answers to silent questions.</p><p></p><p>Oftir shook his head to clear his mind of the sensation, though it didn't make him feel better. This woman's presence was distinctly...odd, uncomfortable. "The adventurers split up upon entering Latona. Four of them went to the temple district, while the other three went to find information. The most knowledgeable person in town is a gnome named Lasom the Large, so they probably headed there."</p><p></p><p>The woman nodded. "Lasom's home is far from the center of town. Those there will be my first target. A contingent of ice golems is already on its way south, and they will keep those in the temple district busy until I can join them and finish the job." The woman's lips twitched again, her eyes alighting on Oftir's holy symbol. "You should rejoice. Many souls will be sent into Cyric's embrace this day."</p><p></p><p>Oftir snorted at the thought of one woman taking out seven powerful adventurers, but something in her steely gaze made him pause. A palpable aura of confidence and skill. Perhaps she <em>was</em> capable of the deed? "Who are you?" he whispered.</p><p></p><p>"I am death," the woman replied, and her form began to turn blurry and insubstantial. "I am nightmare," she continued as her features flowed like water, muscles stretching and growing. Her skin turn a sickly mauve color, and four tentacles sprouted from the face. Oftir yelped in surprise but could not move, paralyzed by the horror of the grotesque transformation. He cowered before the woman's true form, a creature he had only heard about in bard's tales: an illithid. The aberration's tentacles writhed as a telepathic voice sent four words into his mind that chilled him to the core.</p><p></p><p><em>I am Yarrick Zan.</em></p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="ltclnlbrain, post: 2360078, member: 12882"] [B]Chapter 35[/B] Latona was quite rural, backwater some might say, with little in the way of development. Its architectural style was one of function more than floweriness, and it was very blocky and efficient when compared to the graceful majesty of Silverymoon. The citizens, mostly human and halfling, moved about with a slow, almost lazy gait, as if they had all the time in the world. Taigiel cast an apprehensive glance around, shifting uncomfortably. "I hope this disguise will be enough," he said. "This will be the first time I'll be able to walk openly through the streets of a city without leaving a trail of fear and scorn in my wake." "Do not worry, Taigiel," Rumar said, waving a hand dismissively. "I find it unlikely that you will attract much attention. After all, what reason would the guards have to consider yet another random traveler? So long as you simply are careful and consider your actions first I am certain we will pull through just fine." "Let us see if we can find somebody who might have news of the region," said Terenon. "I'm going to see what shrines or temples are here," said Rhys. "Perhaps I'll be able to find out something there or just tend to any people who need some care." "I think I'll go with you," said Jelani. Rhys and Allanon similarly voiced their assent. "Alright," said Grundar. "Terenon and I will take Taigiel and see what we can find. We'll meet back here in two hours." ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- The temple district of Latona was rather small and quaint, barely befitting the name of "district." A few blocks away from city hall stood the city's only two temples: the larger dedicated to Lathander, the Morninglord, and the other to Tyr, God of Justice. Each was of a decent size, though not many people lingered about them. Rhys lead his companions into the temple of Tyr. The interior of the temple wais rather modest, and a few acolytes moved about the main chamber on various errands. Their inquiries were directed to a priestess by the name of Willema Undarn, a plain, stocky woman with graying hair and a stern expression. "How may I be of assistance?" she asked simply. "Mistress Undarn," Rhys said warmly. "I'm Rhys Thurn, a priest of Torm, may his blessings help all in need. These with me are my good friends and valued compnions Allanon, Jelani, and Rumar. We've only arrived here but an short while ago. I'd like to ask you questions about Latona and the area around it, if you'd be so inclined." Willema smiled politely and nodded at the adventurers. "I'll do my best to answer whatever I can." "Well, truth be told, our primary concern is the white dragon Acessiwal. Do you know much about him?" Willema frowned a bit. "I'm afraid not. I've heard the name mentioned a few times here and there. Supposed to be really big and mean, but we've not seen the likes of him around these parts. Perhaps a sage like Lasom the Large might know more." "We will seek him out shortly then." Rhys paused a bit, frowning. A nagging sensation of doubt still tickled the back of his mind, doubt over Oftir. He felt compelled to follow up on his suspicions. "We met a group of travelers on the way here. Their spokesman, a man calling himself Oftir, said that they hailed from the other side of the Spine of the World. He said that they were coming here to start a new life. What stories could they have heard that would promt them to undertake such a hazardous journey?" Willema looked a bit puzzled by the question. Rumar coughed with a little embarrassment at Rhys' question. Raising one finger in polite request for a moment from Willema, he moved over to Rhys and pulled him a few steps away. "Perhaps you should stop being so blunt in your investigations of Oftir," he said quietly to the priest, a tipped smile resting on his face. "To be honest, we've yet to see any proof that he is remotely dangerous or evil. Don't you think it's slightly possible he's merely a wanderer? I mean, this town had to have been formed by precisely the same sort of people - those interested in merely putting as much distance between them and their old life." "After all, the reverse would imply that he's some sort of terribly clever arch-villain with the ability to completely mask his true identity and the resources to set up such an elaborate and more than a little needlessly complicated plot. Not that I'm saying it's impossible," Rumar added reluctantly, "merely that it seems rather unlikely so far." Rhys looked at Rumar for a long moment, then finally let out a sigh. "You're correct," he said at last before turning back to Willema. "Mistress, I apologize for my unjustified implications, and I thank you for your time. We will see what we can learn at the Temple of the Morninglord. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Oftir nervously wiped at his greasy hair as he waited in the shadows of a building near the outskirts of the town. He had dropped the facade of the old missionary conjured by his magical hat, revealing a tall man with sunken eyes and craven features. He giggled to himself with excitement. Not only had me made contact with the great Acessiwal, the dragon had actually [I]responded[/I] to him! It was almost too good to be true. The wyrm had told him to wait here to meet one of his agents, who would exchange the location of the adventurers for directions on how to get to Coldheart and join his new master in his demesne. So the Cyricist waited now for said agent to arrive. A whisper of movement beside him startled him, and he nearly screamed in surprise as a beautiful half-elven woman seemed to materialize out of the shadows. The woman wore close-fitting black clothing and smiled slightly, her lips twitching in what Oftir took to be amusement. "You are Oftir?" she asked. The priest struggled to regain his dignity. "Yes, yes, I am." He regarded her coolly, though his eyes were drawn to her physical assets. "You serve Acessiwal, then?" "I serve many masters, as long as they can afford me," the woman replied. "But my only true loyalty is to myself." The half-elf's eyes bored into Oftir's, and the priest felt as if she were looking past them, probing his mind for answers to silent questions. Oftir shook his head to clear his mind of the sensation, though it didn't make him feel better. This woman's presence was distinctly...odd, uncomfortable. "The adventurers split up upon entering Latona. Four of them went to the temple district, while the other three went to find information. The most knowledgeable person in town is a gnome named Lasom the Large, so they probably headed there." The woman nodded. "Lasom's home is far from the center of town. Those there will be my first target. A contingent of ice golems is already on its way south, and they will keep those in the temple district busy until I can join them and finish the job." The woman's lips twitched again, her eyes alighting on Oftir's holy symbol. "You should rejoice. Many souls will be sent into Cyric's embrace this day." Oftir snorted at the thought of one woman taking out seven powerful adventurers, but something in her steely gaze made him pause. A palpable aura of confidence and skill. Perhaps she [I]was[/I] capable of the deed? "Who are you?" he whispered. "I am death," the woman replied, and her form began to turn blurry and insubstantial. "I am nightmare," she continued as her features flowed like water, muscles stretching and growing. Her skin turn a sickly mauve color, and four tentacles sprouted from the face. Oftir yelped in surprise but could not move, paralyzed by the horror of the grotesque transformation. He cowered before the woman's true form, a creature he had only heard about in bard's tales: an illithid. The aberration's tentacles writhed as a telepathic voice sent four words into his mind that chilled him to the core. [I]I am Yarrick Zan.[/I] [/QUOTE]
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