Phasmus
First Post
Greetings and welcome to The Vitis Campaign story hour. Here will be recounted the story of a group of adventurers forced to contend with a world plunged into turmoil...
Enjoy.
---
"Eh? What's this? If you've come here for a story, or a tale, then you can turn around and leave right now. This is a library, a place of learning...not a receptacle for fantasies and the foolish claptrap of addled youths and romantics.
Hmm? Ohhh! A history! Well that's an entirely different matter! Have a seat then and I'll tell you what I can, though what you're asking about is a dark and murky time, even now. Yes...the Dread Ascension, or Illithid Uprising...many names, but only a single, terrible time. Is it over now? An interesting question...one can only hope.
But here, sit and look at the Viewing Stone. It will show you where it began. See it now as it was then...and never will be again. There are the spiraled towers and crenellated walls of Caronalon, capital of the nation of Caron and oldest of its cities. Those sculpted walls may look just for show now...but they speak of a long and brutal history. Caron was forged from lands taken inch by bitter inch from the orcs and goblins, driving them into Ogonek of course...but I digress. Founded by the might of its armies, kept through skillful diplomacy between the haughty mages of westward Cedilla, and the dry technocrats of eastbound neighbor Macron, the Caronites forged a kingdom that would dominate the entire continent of Kaldonia. The work of ten kings in sequence, raised over centuries...
...smashed in a single night, in the Uprising.
But look now, and see the story unfold..."
--
Over the light forested plains of south central Cedilla a storm brewed uneasily. It was typical of the weather that settled over the land in the early springtime...gusting in spastic fits and starts, dying just as unpredictably. It was a storm that didn't know its own strength, but seemed to fear what it was capable of. Or perhaps it feared what it now passed over. The woods were not heavily populated even in the best of times, and no one went this far south in them. There were whispers of hauntings, of strange voices and stranger sights...those who ventured too far were never seen again. Unknown to any who still lived, there was a ring of clear ground in the heart of the forest; a ring in which nothing living save witless grass and a few dry shrubs made homes. Birds never sang in the sky above, and the earth here was devoid of burrowing moles, even worms and grubs. This was the alfheidar; the Hallowed Ground. Unbroken and flat, except for the rearing hulks of ancient stonework bleached stark white in uncounted millenea of sun and rain. Scattered without apparent design or purpose, like unmarked dice carelessly thrown from the heavens to take root in this sacred ground. Elsewhere jutted crumbling fluted pillars and remnants of still greater buildings, now mouldering to their foundations. Skeletal fingers protruding from the soil as if scrabbling desperately to regain their fallen splendor.
Into this place so long forgotten stumbles a small line of figures. The first ones are humans, shambling against the suddenly howling wind. When skeletons arise out of piles of debris around them, they fight back with eerie silence, even as some of their number fall. Behind them lurch three taller, narrower forms. When they come out of the shadows of the trees, their writhing tentacular faces and hideous, glistening mauve skin leaves no question at all as to their species...even if the slack, perpetually distracted expressions on the faces of their companions did not expose them first.
*The journey has been harder than anticipated,* spoke one, not with the nauseous flapping of oral cavities that thrall-races used, but with the erudite transmission of thought to thought.
Another one considered, and broadcast agreement. It's tentacles splayed momentarily, revealing the horribly sharp beak within. *Our resources dwindle. We must eat again, sooner than planned.*
The third brushed a fallen twig off of it's undulating flesh. *Our mission will require the use of battle-thralls. Which among them is most expendable?*
As one, the three alien heads swiveled to regard three thralls that were just then emerging behind. One, a powerfully built human who had been a priestess. Another, a halfling whose small size and relative lack of strength were causing him to suffer more from the storm than the others. And finally, a human sorceress, chosen for her magic abilities, but in reality far too inexperienced to be of much use.
Further agreement was not necessary. The solution was clear. The three bodies were casually dumped in front of the first crypt and then forgotten. But One saw, and did not forget...
--
Shayuri, Piklum, and Shar awoke inside a dank, dark crypt. This was perhaps not especially surprising, since all of them had vivid memories of being slain and consumed by their illithid masters. They quickly noticed however that the mortal realm was wispy and insubstantial...like a construct of fog. While Shar immediately knelt in supplication to her deity, Delta, and begged to understand why she was not now in the goddess' domain, the halfling Piklum and sorceress Shayuri explored the extent of their new surroundings. They found that while stone was no bar to them, that there was something in the stone that blocked them. There seemed to be no escape. Before they could do more than register this though, a trap door in the ceiling opened.
Through the door, came an angel.
Or so it first seemed. In fact, the 'angel' was a luminous elfin creature, who despite her ethereal nature seemed perfectly capable of manipulating 'solid' objects.
"I am Shankara," she said in a voice drenched with sadness and hope, "And I need your help."
The three spirits looked at each other, then at Shankara...and all struggled to speak at once, ranging from polite requests for information, to raving demands for explanations. The ephemeral elf simply smiled her sad little smile and spoke again...her voice effortlessly cutting through the clamor.
"I apologize for this. I realize it must come as a shock to you all. You must know though that what I must ask of you would be impossible if you were in your natural forms. I have returned your souls to the material plane as ghosts, and after you do me the service I must ask, I will return you to your full lives. I am truly sorry, but there is no other option for me but to do this."
This time the sorceress spoke first, gliding forward and quickly blurting, "What 'service' are you demanding?" before anyone else could interrupt. The other two seemed content with that question, and they all waited for Shankara's reply.
The elf seemed oddly uncomfortable. "I am the guardian of this place," she said simply. "Three of those you call mind flayers invaded it earlier, with their minions. I was able to dispose of them all." She paused, then added, "All but one. That one escaped. Worse still...it has glimpsed what it is that I guard. Should it find its way back to the others, they will stop at nothing to obtain it. My powers are great, but not enough to withstand the full might of the illithid. Your task is to find the illithid that escaped and slay it before it can warn the others."
"Why," growled Shar belligerantly, "don't YOU slay it? If your 'powers' are so great, what need have you for us?"
"I am tied to this tomb," Shankara replied, taking no insult at the priestesses tone.
"Sounds good to me," the halfling Piklum said cheerfully, floating in elaborate patterns. "Heck, you can just leave me like this after we're done if you want. Wheee!"
"Wait," Shayuri protested, "How are we to find this illithid? It's a big forest, and we can barely see the material plane."
Shankara nodded and gestured for the others to be still. "The one who walks still killed one of you. There is a bond between it and the one it killed...a bond of vengeance earned. Ghosts are very sensitive to that, and that one among you can follow it like a hound." On catching a look at the wildly soaring spectral halfing, she noted as well, "Be aware that this call of vengeance is all that holds your souls here in this ghostly shell. Once the mind flayer has fallen your onuses will be expiated, and you will begin to dissolve. If you have not returned here, so that your souls are returned to your bodies, you will pass on as you normally would have without my intervention."
Piklum stopped in midair and mulled that over. "Bummer."
"You all have supernatural abilities," Shankara went on, "That will enable you to enact your retribution. Do it, and return to me here, and you will live...truly live...once more. Are there any other questions?"
"I can feel it," Shar suddenly said, her expression darkening even on a face made from glowing ectoplasm. "It's the one that killed me!" She zoomed towards the trap door. "This way!"
Shayuri sighed and shrugged. "It seems there's no more time for questions. We'll see you soon, Shankara."
The three ghosts plunged out into the increasingly stormy night...
------------------------
To be Continued
Enjoy.
---
"Eh? What's this? If you've come here for a story, or a tale, then you can turn around and leave right now. This is a library, a place of learning...not a receptacle for fantasies and the foolish claptrap of addled youths and romantics.
Hmm? Ohhh! A history! Well that's an entirely different matter! Have a seat then and I'll tell you what I can, though what you're asking about is a dark and murky time, even now. Yes...the Dread Ascension, or Illithid Uprising...many names, but only a single, terrible time. Is it over now? An interesting question...one can only hope.
But here, sit and look at the Viewing Stone. It will show you where it began. See it now as it was then...and never will be again. There are the spiraled towers and crenellated walls of Caronalon, capital of the nation of Caron and oldest of its cities. Those sculpted walls may look just for show now...but they speak of a long and brutal history. Caron was forged from lands taken inch by bitter inch from the orcs and goblins, driving them into Ogonek of course...but I digress. Founded by the might of its armies, kept through skillful diplomacy between the haughty mages of westward Cedilla, and the dry technocrats of eastbound neighbor Macron, the Caronites forged a kingdom that would dominate the entire continent of Kaldonia. The work of ten kings in sequence, raised over centuries...
...smashed in a single night, in the Uprising.
But look now, and see the story unfold..."
--
Over the light forested plains of south central Cedilla a storm brewed uneasily. It was typical of the weather that settled over the land in the early springtime...gusting in spastic fits and starts, dying just as unpredictably. It was a storm that didn't know its own strength, but seemed to fear what it was capable of. Or perhaps it feared what it now passed over. The woods were not heavily populated even in the best of times, and no one went this far south in them. There were whispers of hauntings, of strange voices and stranger sights...those who ventured too far were never seen again. Unknown to any who still lived, there was a ring of clear ground in the heart of the forest; a ring in which nothing living save witless grass and a few dry shrubs made homes. Birds never sang in the sky above, and the earth here was devoid of burrowing moles, even worms and grubs. This was the alfheidar; the Hallowed Ground. Unbroken and flat, except for the rearing hulks of ancient stonework bleached stark white in uncounted millenea of sun and rain. Scattered without apparent design or purpose, like unmarked dice carelessly thrown from the heavens to take root in this sacred ground. Elsewhere jutted crumbling fluted pillars and remnants of still greater buildings, now mouldering to their foundations. Skeletal fingers protruding from the soil as if scrabbling desperately to regain their fallen splendor.
Into this place so long forgotten stumbles a small line of figures. The first ones are humans, shambling against the suddenly howling wind. When skeletons arise out of piles of debris around them, they fight back with eerie silence, even as some of their number fall. Behind them lurch three taller, narrower forms. When they come out of the shadows of the trees, their writhing tentacular faces and hideous, glistening mauve skin leaves no question at all as to their species...even if the slack, perpetually distracted expressions on the faces of their companions did not expose them first.
*The journey has been harder than anticipated,* spoke one, not with the nauseous flapping of oral cavities that thrall-races used, but with the erudite transmission of thought to thought.
Another one considered, and broadcast agreement. It's tentacles splayed momentarily, revealing the horribly sharp beak within. *Our resources dwindle. We must eat again, sooner than planned.*
The third brushed a fallen twig off of it's undulating flesh. *Our mission will require the use of battle-thralls. Which among them is most expendable?*
As one, the three alien heads swiveled to regard three thralls that were just then emerging behind. One, a powerfully built human who had been a priestess. Another, a halfling whose small size and relative lack of strength were causing him to suffer more from the storm than the others. And finally, a human sorceress, chosen for her magic abilities, but in reality far too inexperienced to be of much use.
Further agreement was not necessary. The solution was clear. The three bodies were casually dumped in front of the first crypt and then forgotten. But One saw, and did not forget...
--
Shayuri, Piklum, and Shar awoke inside a dank, dark crypt. This was perhaps not especially surprising, since all of them had vivid memories of being slain and consumed by their illithid masters. They quickly noticed however that the mortal realm was wispy and insubstantial...like a construct of fog. While Shar immediately knelt in supplication to her deity, Delta, and begged to understand why she was not now in the goddess' domain, the halfling Piklum and sorceress Shayuri explored the extent of their new surroundings. They found that while stone was no bar to them, that there was something in the stone that blocked them. There seemed to be no escape. Before they could do more than register this though, a trap door in the ceiling opened.
Through the door, came an angel.
Or so it first seemed. In fact, the 'angel' was a luminous elfin creature, who despite her ethereal nature seemed perfectly capable of manipulating 'solid' objects.
"I am Shankara," she said in a voice drenched with sadness and hope, "And I need your help."
The three spirits looked at each other, then at Shankara...and all struggled to speak at once, ranging from polite requests for information, to raving demands for explanations. The ephemeral elf simply smiled her sad little smile and spoke again...her voice effortlessly cutting through the clamor.
"I apologize for this. I realize it must come as a shock to you all. You must know though that what I must ask of you would be impossible if you were in your natural forms. I have returned your souls to the material plane as ghosts, and after you do me the service I must ask, I will return you to your full lives. I am truly sorry, but there is no other option for me but to do this."
This time the sorceress spoke first, gliding forward and quickly blurting, "What 'service' are you demanding?" before anyone else could interrupt. The other two seemed content with that question, and they all waited for Shankara's reply.
The elf seemed oddly uncomfortable. "I am the guardian of this place," she said simply. "Three of those you call mind flayers invaded it earlier, with their minions. I was able to dispose of them all." She paused, then added, "All but one. That one escaped. Worse still...it has glimpsed what it is that I guard. Should it find its way back to the others, they will stop at nothing to obtain it. My powers are great, but not enough to withstand the full might of the illithid. Your task is to find the illithid that escaped and slay it before it can warn the others."
"Why," growled Shar belligerantly, "don't YOU slay it? If your 'powers' are so great, what need have you for us?"
"I am tied to this tomb," Shankara replied, taking no insult at the priestesses tone.
"Sounds good to me," the halfling Piklum said cheerfully, floating in elaborate patterns. "Heck, you can just leave me like this after we're done if you want. Wheee!"
"Wait," Shayuri protested, "How are we to find this illithid? It's a big forest, and we can barely see the material plane."
Shankara nodded and gestured for the others to be still. "The one who walks still killed one of you. There is a bond between it and the one it killed...a bond of vengeance earned. Ghosts are very sensitive to that, and that one among you can follow it like a hound." On catching a look at the wildly soaring spectral halfing, she noted as well, "Be aware that this call of vengeance is all that holds your souls here in this ghostly shell. Once the mind flayer has fallen your onuses will be expiated, and you will begin to dissolve. If you have not returned here, so that your souls are returned to your bodies, you will pass on as you normally would have without my intervention."
Piklum stopped in midair and mulled that over. "Bummer."
"You all have supernatural abilities," Shankara went on, "That will enable you to enact your retribution. Do it, and return to me here, and you will live...truly live...once more. Are there any other questions?"
"I can feel it," Shar suddenly said, her expression darkening even on a face made from glowing ectoplasm. "It's the one that killed me!" She zoomed towards the trap door. "This way!"
Shayuri sighed and shrugged. "It seems there's no more time for questions. We'll see you soon, Shankara."
The three ghosts plunged out into the increasingly stormy night...
------------------------
To be Continued
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