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JollyDoc's Age of Worms (Updated 11/30, Epilogue!)
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<blockquote data-quote="gfunk" data-source="post: 2813731" data-attributes="member: 1813"><p>STARMANTLE</p><p></p><p>Malchor Harpell sat brooding in his study for some time after the members of the League had departed for Starmantle. He had provided them with a detailed painting of the city gates to get their bearings, thus allowing them to teleport en masse. Now, he was deeply troubled. Not only had the rogue Shay abandoned the group, but at the last minute, the dwarven mineral warrior had also begged off. Grim had stated that he felt honor-bound to return to his clan and warn them of the impending danger of the Age of Worms. That left only six of the group…six to fight an undead army. The archmage still felt in his heart that he could not intervene directly. He had made some powerful enemies in his life, and were he to actively join in the search for the truth behind the Age of Worms, those enemies would likely be moved to join the opposition. Still, that did not mean he was completely without recourse.</p><p>“Celeste,” he said, turning to the ghaele, who was busy perusing more of the library’s tomes. “I think it might be wise for you to pay a visit to Baldur’s Gate. See if our old friend Pavel is between employers.”</p><p></p><p>Starmantle perched upon a rocky outcropping which curled around a natural harbor. Numerous ships, from proud sailing vessels to small rickety fishing sloops found shelter there. Buildings had been crammed onto the promontory with such congestion that they almost seemed afraid of the gray, featureless lands beyond…rotting hills of brown and black and gray stones, and vast muddy tidal flats pocked with collapsed structures and stunted trees. The town itself was a montage of different architectural styles, designs, and cultures. Black towers rose ominously along the walls and cliffs surrounding the town, while intimidating golden-domed temples and pagodas cast shadows upon huge wood and stone manor houses that reached cathedral height. Interspersed with these were endless rows of hovels made from bits of timber, barrels, sides of boats and rubbish. The shanties spread at the feet of the town like flotsam washed up at the seashore. Three structures dominated Starmantle’s skyline. In the center of town rose an ominous cathedral, while on the highest cliffside stood a grand palace. However, even the palace was dwarfed by another structure in the southwestern section of the city. There, a massive ziggurat of red stone appeared to be under construction. Above all of this circled crows…thousands upon thousands of them, like black storm clouds.</p><p></p><p>The League had appeared a half-mile from the city walls, so as not to attract suspicion. As they approached the town, a steady stream of travelers, both coming and going, grew along the road. Soon, they reached a pair of massive gates, where a passively disinterested hobgoblin guard stood with a ledger.</p><p>“What’s yer business in town?” he muttered.</p><p>“We’re here to see that zig…” Faust began before Hawk elbowed him aside.</p><p>“We’re here to spend some coin and see the sights,” the civilar said. Hawk had put away his Waterdhavian insignia, and now wore a featureless tabard over his armor, though the symbol of Helm still hung from its chain around his neck. Drasek likewise made no effort to disguise the skeletal hand grasping a set of scales that was Kelemvor’s sign. The hobgoblin grunted, barely giving them a second glance and waved them through.</p><p></p><p>Upon entering the town, the group was immediately struck by the overtly festive atmosphere. Banners and pennants hung from every building and sign post, and it seemed the populace was preparing for some sort of celebration. Hawk’s eyes narrowed and his jaw tensed, however, as he saw the emblem emblazoned on the banners…the upraised black fist of Bane. The civilar pointed this out to Drasek, and the inquisitor had to forcibly restrain himself from ripping down one of the pennants.</p><p>“Joy to you on this day strangers!” a matronly shopkeeper called out. “A blessing upon you for visiting our humble land!”</p><p>“All hail the Black Hand!” Faust called back enthusiastically, earning withering glares from both paladins. </p><p>“When in Starmantle…” the psion shrugged. He turned his attention back to the shopkeeper. “Tell me dear lady, what is the occasion for this celebration?”</p><p>The woman’s smile never wavered, but something in her eyes seemed to question its sincerity. “Why, it is the twentieth anniversary of our Lord Embuirhan's rule of Starmantle, blessed be his name! There will be parades and entertainment all week long in Lowtown, not to mention the wonderful sales in the merchant’s market! Then, at the end of the week, Lord Embuirhan will host his annual extravaganza at the palace! Everyone who is anyone will be in attendance!”</p><p>“I see,” said Faust, maintaining his own false grin. “Can you tell us where some weary travelers might find accommodations nearby?”</p><p>She pointed up the main thoroughfare. “The Deluxury is the finest inn in all Starmantle, though I dare say it will cost a pretty copper. The Ogre’s Hideout is certainly more affordable, but it caters to a less sophisticated crowd. I don’t think it would suit the tastes of gentlefolk such as yourselves.”</p><p>“You have our thanks,” Faust bowed, “and may the firm Hand of Tyranny always hold you under its thumb!” </p><p></p><p>“We are trying to maintain a low profile,” Faust said as the group continued along the road. “Perhaps less conspicuous lodging would be in order?”</p><p>Hawk looked dubious. “Perhaps. We can at least have a look.”</p><p>The Ogre’s Hideout, as it turned out, was only a block or so off the Toil Road. It was a rough looking establishment, much like many other inns the adventurers had frequented in their travels. The taproom was large and well-stocked, but unimaginative. It was also crowded with hobgoblins…large, burly sorts, well-armed and well-armored. The innkeeper was a small, jumpy looking man who’s eyes kept darting here and there among his patrons. </p><p>“Good day to you, sir!” Faust said as he approached the bar. “Might I have your name?”</p><p>“Frill Breskered,” the man answered. “Who’s asking?”</p><p>“Faust Cenodoxus,” Faust replied, “but you can call me Holocaust. My companions and I were wondering if you had any rooms available.”</p><p>Breskered shook his head, “No singles. All of them are rented out,” he nodded towards the hobgoblins. “All I’ve got’s common rooms.”</p><p>At this point, Grubber leaned across the bar. “I hope you don’t mind my presumption,” the goliath rumbled, towering over the little man, “but you seem troubled. Are your current clients causing you mischief?” </p><p>Hastily, Breskered shook his head, “No sir. None at all.” Faust didn’t think he sounded very convincing.</p><p>“Because if they are,” the psion said conspiratorially, “my friend here,” he hooked a thumb at Hawk, “absolutely detests goblins of any sort. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind freeing up a few rooms for you.”</p><p>At this the innkeeper’s eyes widened, “Oh no! No sir! I don’t want any trouble here! The last thing I need’s for the Blessed Angels to come poking around! Please, either take the room I got or move along!”</p><p>“Blessed Angels?” Giovanni asked, suddenly intrigued.</p><p>“Our protectors,” Breskered said, hastily making the sign of the Evil Eye. “They are both beautiful and terrible to behold, with their fiery hair, and black wings! They root out heretics and miscreants, like the rabble-rousers who distribute the Sinchaser Report!”</p><p>The warlock raised a questioning eyebrow.</p><p>“It’s a newspaper,” the innkeeper said, his voice low. “Full of all kinds of lies about Lord Embuirhan. It’s illegal to even be discussing it!” </p><p>“Yes,” Hawk said, interrupting before Faust could stick his foot in his mouth, “well, we can see you are a busy man, and we will not trouble you further. Come on,” he said to the others. “We’re leaving.”</p><p></p><p>“So what do you make of all that?” Drasek asked Hawk once they were back out on the street.</p><p>“I’m not sure,” the civilar said, “but there is obviously much more going on in this town than meets the eye. I say we continue our wandering a bit longer and get a feel for the lay of the land.”</p><p></p><p>Prior to departing for Starmantle, Drasek had contacted his superiors in Baldur’s Gate to update them on his progress. He had been informed of the existence of a temple to Kelemvor in Starmantle. However, the clergy of this particular temple, the so-called Scarlet Spire, were referred to as “orthodox,” that is they had once been followers of Myrkul who had reluctantly converted after the death of their god. As an inquisitor, Drasek felt that it was his duty to pay the temple an official visit.</p><p></p><p>As it happened, the Scarlet Spire stood in close proximity to the largest cathedral in Starmantle…that of Bane. This, in turn, was directly across the street from the luxurious inn known as the Deluxury. Faust agreed to accompany Drasek to the Scarlet Spire, while Grubber decided to poke about in Lowtown in search of any leads. Giovanni, Hawk and Storm had a plan of their own. It was Giovanni’s intention to purchase the finest noble garb that he could afford, and then pay a visit to the Red Blades Merchant Consortium, the equivalent of the merchants’ guild in Starmantle. The warlock’s family, House Vito, held a prominent position among the merchant houses of Sembia, and now he intended to drop that name and see if it would help him to procure an invitation for Embuirhan’s gala. No one need know that he was considered outcast from his family. Hawk would pose as his bodyguard, and Storm as his concubine. Appearances were everything.</p><p></p><p>When Faust and Drasek entered the sanctuary of the Scarlet Spire, they were immediately greeted by a bustling acolyte. The young priest’s eyes went wide when he saw Drasek’s insignia. </p><p>“My…my Lord Inquisitor!” the boy stammered. “This is a most…unexpected honor!”</p><p>“No one expects the Kelemvorite Inquisition,” Drasek said in a bored voice, casually looking around at the opulent décor of the chapel. Obviously the church was thriving. The inquisitor’s suspicions immediately increased.</p><p>“Fetch your superior lad,” he commanded.</p><p>“The High Priestess…dislikes being disturbed,” the acolyte whispered, eyes downcast.</p><p>Drasek drew himself up to his full height, “I am certain she would dislike the fact that you refused the order of an Inquisitor far more!”</p><p>“Yes my Lord!” the boy answered, bowing and bobbing back down the aisle, disappearing through a side door. A short time later, a middle-aged woman dressed in luxurious vestments appeared thru the door. The expression on her face was as severe as the bun which held back her iron-grey hair.</p><p>“What is the meaning of this?” she demanded, striding boldly up to Drasek. “I was not informed of this inquisition!”</p><p>“Whom do I have the pleasure of addressing?” Drasek said softly, a note of warning in his tone.</p><p>“I am Almerah Kosen, High Priestess of the Scarlet Spire of Kelemvor,” the woman intoned.</p><p>“I am Drasek, but you may address me as Lord Inquisitor, and as you well know, the Inquisition goes where it is needed, not where it is invited. I have come to Starmantle to pay my respects to Lord Embuirhan on the occasion of his anniversary, but it has come to my attention that your enclave has had a dramatic increase in the size of your coffers…a bounty that has not been passed along in your annual tithes. Would you care to explain the nature of this boon?”</p><p>Almerah looked incensed…worse, she looked ready to kill. Visible restraint showed in the tense working of her jaw muscles. “The ascension of the church of Bane since Lord Embuirhan’s rise to power has not been favorable to us,” she said sharply. “We were still accorded our traditional duties of tending the cemetery, but beyond that we were barely tolerated. We had to devise…other means to support our ministry.”</p><p>“And what would those be?” Drasek asked coldly.</p><p>Almerah seemed reluctant, but finally she said, “We offer some of our divine favors to the nobility. They come to us seeking to maintain and prolong their youth and beauty.”</p><p>“Surely you are not prolonging lives by artificial means?” Drasek demanded. “That is an abomination!”</p><p>“Of course not!” Almerah snapped. “We merely offer cosmetic services.”</p><p>“I see,” Drasek nodded. “However, I’m sure you will not mind if I ascertain for myself the nature of these services. I will be here for at least a week. I will require suitable quarters here in the church for myself and my assistant.”</p><p>Almerah’s eyes widened, and she looked with unveiled disgust at Faust. “Surely you would be more comfortable in one of the local inns,” she began, but Drasek cut her short.</p><p>“I will stay here,” he said with finality.</p><p>“Very well,” the High Priestess said tightly. “Arrangements will be made. Now, if you will excuse me, I have important duties to attend to.”</p><p>“I’m sure,” Drasek said to her retreating back.</p><p></p><p>Grubber made his way down to the dock district, which proved to be as seedy and rundown as any such area in any large city. Hobgoblins seemed to comprise the bulk of the sailors and stevedores, but a few humans and half-orcs were also in attendance. The goliath briefly toyed with the idea of preaching Grumbar’s Word to the seamen regarding the inherent dangers of water travel, but the grim faces and plethora of blades boasted by the sailors gave him pause. The goliath was certainly no expert when it came to being unobtrusive, and the first several people he stopped to ask information from either ignored him completely, or cursed roundly, placing their hands on the hilts of their steel. Finally, he approached an elderly fish monger who didn’t accost him outright.</p><p>“Your pardon dear lady,” he bowed. This earned him a cackle of laughter from the snaggle-toothed crone.</p><p>“Lady is it?” she laughed. “Why I’ve not been called such in three-score years, and even then it weren’t meant as a compliment. Yer not from around here, are ye big’un?”</p><p>“No Madame, I am not,” Grubber said, perplexed at her reaction. He couldn’t tell if she was amused or angered.</p><p>“Well I ain’t no Madame neither,” the woman chortled. “If’n I were, it sure wouldn’t be scrod I’d be peddlin’, now would it? What is it ye want lad?”</p><p>Grubber was momentarily at a loss for words, and as he finally caught her meaning, a deep blush crept up his gray cheeks. “I…I’m looking for someone,” he finally managed to stammer. “Do you know a wizard named Balakarde?”</p><p>“Never heard of’im,” the crone answered, shaking her head.</p><p>“Oh. I see,” Grubber paused. “What about a man named Rhorsk? He is a Helmite priest from this town.”</p><p>“Helmite!” The woman shrieked with laughter. “Helmet-head’s more like it! If it’s those type yer lookin’ fer, ye’d best go to the Church of Blessed Deliverance. Ye’ll find all the Helmites ye want there!” Still laughing, she turned and walked away, leaving the goliath even more perplexed.</p><p></p><p>After procuring a suite at the Deluxury (for the exorbitant fee of one-hundred gold crowns a night…each!), Giovanni Vito, his bodyguard, and his concubine worked their way across town to the Red Blades Merchant Consortium. The building seemed like any other guildhall on the inside, with merchants ranging from street vendors to wealthy craftsmen mingling in a large common room. A young, bearded man wearing a fez cap sat behind a desk scribbling in a ledger. </p><p>“May I be of service?” he asked, looking up as Giovanni and his contingent entered.</p><p>“I am Giovanni Vito,” the warlock said, “of the Sembian Vitos. Perhaps you’ve heard of my family.” </p><p>The man shrugged, “The name sounds familiar.”</p><p>“Yes, well,” Giovanni continued, clearing his throat, “I am looking at some business ventures in Starmantle. Is your master available?”</p><p>The man snorted. “I’m afraid not. Mistress Mahuudril is rarely in attendance here.”</p><p>“I see,” the warlock said, looking pensive. “Do you expect her any time soon? I will only be in town for the week, until the prince’s gala.”</p><p>“Oh?” the scribe said, raising one eyebrow. “Then you should certainly run into the guildmistress there.”</p><p>“Ah,” said Giovanni. “You wouldn’t happen to know how one might go about procuring an invitation, would you?”</p><p>“You are planning on attending the gala, and you don’t have an invitation?” the man said, a bemused look on his face.</p><p>“Well, as I mentioned, I’ve only just arrived in town and heard news of the celebration,” Giovanni answered.</p><p>“I’m afraid I can’t help you,” the scribe said, going back to his ledger, “and I wouldn’t count on running into Mahuudril while you’re here. She usually doesn’t involve herself in the more mundane aspects of our business.”</p><p>For a moment, Giovanni thought he detected a faint note of bitterness or resentment in the man’s tone.</p><p>“Can I have your name, sir?” the warlock asked politely.</p><p>“I am Trell, sergeant-at-arms for the guild,” he replied.</p><p>“A pleasure, Mr. Trell. Forgive me for being intrusive, but I could not help but notice that you don’t seem very fond or your mistress.”</p><p>Trell was silent for a moment, and then looked around for any nearby eavesdroppers. </p><p>“Look,” he said finally, “you seem a good sort, so I’ll give you a bit of advice. Take your business elsewhere. Starmantle is not the place for free and fair trade. Mahuudril has a monopoly on the merchant enterprise here, and she doesn’t share with anyone.”</p><p>“Nevertheless,” Giovanni said, leaning forward and lowering his voice, “I am looking to expand my family’s interests into this market, and I will be in need of someone trustworthy who is not afraid to take a financial risk or two. Perhaps I could contact you again sometime Mr. Trell?”</p><p>Trell nodded cautiously.</p><p>“Excellent,” the warlock said, pulling his cloak around him. “If you happen to come across any leads on securing attendance at the gala, I will be staying at the Deluxury.” With that, he beckoned Hawk and Storm to follow, and they departed the guildhall.</p><p></p><p>‘Have you been to the church yet?’ Faust asked Grubber through the Mindlink he had erected among the group before they separated earlier in the day.</p><p>‘No,’ Grubber responded. ‘I thought I would contact the rest of you first.’</p><p>‘Wise move,’ the psion replied. ‘Havok, Drasek and I are closer. We will meet Grubber at this Church of Blessed Deliverance. We will stay in contact with you.’</p><p>‘I’m not sure I like this,’ the warlock said. ‘Just be careful.’</p><p>‘My middle name,’ Faust laughed.</p><p></p><p>The bitter irony of the church of “Blessed Deliverance” was not lost on Faust, Drasek and Grubber. The building was a blackened hulk, a monument to loss and ruin. Melted stained glass depictions of angels appeared to writhe in the black kiss of fire in the few walls that still stood. Those sagging, blackened ruins bore numerous signs which read, “Condemned by the Order and Ineffable Wisdom of Almighty Prince Embuirhan…Entry Prohibited!”</p><p></p><p>“I hate this city,” Drasek said in a soft, deadly voice.</p><p>“Do you want to take a look inside?” Faust asked.</p><p>“What would be the point?” Grubber answered.</p><p>“I want to go in,” said Drasek. “If nothing else, at least I can sanctify this place, so that some small beacon of light might shine in this hell hole.”</p><p>“Gather around me,” Faust said. “I don’t think we should make this too obvious. Don’t want to attract any ‘Blessed Angels.’”</p><p>Stepping into a nearby alley, the trio huddled together while Faust transdimensionally transported them inside the ruins.</p><p></p><p>The interior was just as blasted as the exterior. Nothing was intact, and rubble was piled head high. However, as Grubber poked around beneath one of these piles, he found a concealed trapdoor. Calling the others to him, he heaved on the lift-ring and hoisted the rusted door open. Underneath, a steep, circular stairwell led down into darkness. </p><p>“The crypt,” Drasek said, staring down.</p><p>“Do you hear that?” Grubber asked, whispering. From the darkness, a faint, low moan drifted up. Drasek looked at his companions, and then started down.</p><p></p><p>The crypt was a shambles. In places, the low ceiling sagged ominously. Bones were scattered in tangled heaps all over the floor, and the twelve tombs that surrounded the central chamber had been violated. The brick-lined crypt walls had been torn down, and narrow, claustrophobic tunnels had been dug through the stony earth. </p><p>“Those are not natural,” Grubber said, peering at the tunnels. “They were made by magic.”</p><p>At that moment, a piercing shriek filled the air. From behind a mound of rubble at the far end of the crypt, a creature shambled. It looked like a twisted, feral, gray-skinned man with large, jagged fingernails, sharp teeth, red eyes and festering skin. Its body seemed frail and emaciated, save for its belly, which was disturbingly round and full. The creature wore tattered remnants of once fine robes over a gleaming chain shirt. The robes bore the symbol of Helm.</p><p></p><p>“It’s some sort of ghoul,” Faust said quietly, “and yet, I sense an intelligent mind beneath. Peace!” the psion called out. “We too venerate the Watcher, and revile the Black Hand!”</p><p>The creature hissed and babbled, waving its hands in agitation.</p><p>“Let me try,” Drasek said, slowly approaching the ghoul, and brandishing Kelemvor’s symbol. “We mean you no harm,” he spoke in a soothing tone. “We are looking for a priest named Rhorsk. Do you know what has become of him?”</p><p>For an instant, Drasek swore that he saw a flicker of recognition in the creature’s eyes, but then its gaze fell upon his holy symbol, and a blind rage seemed to overtake it. Incredibly, it began a chanting incantation that was undeniably spellcasting. Rushing forward, Drasek swatted the ghouls gesticulating hands aside with the head of his maul. Hissing in anger, the creature retreated several steps, and began another spell. This time it was successful, and a baleful glow surrounded its clawed hand. Drasek recognized the spell as one that was capable of weakening servants of Law, such as himself. With a snarl, the ghoul darted forward, laying its limned hand on the inquisitor’s chest. Drasek felt a brief surge of dark energy pulse through his body, but it passed quickly, his faith in Kelemvor too strong to allow such a weak enchantment to affect him.</p><p></p><p>“Enough!” Faust commanded from the far side of the crypt, and at his shout, the ghoul went rigid. </p><p>“Kneel before the Hand of Kelemvor!” the psion intoned, and the creature’s knees folded beneath it as it dropped to the ground at Drasek’s feet. </p><p>“In the name of Kelemvor,” Drasek intoned, “I commend your eternal soul to his benevolent embrace!” With that, he brought his maul down upon the ghoul’s forehead, and it fell as if poleaxed, twitching once, then moving no more.</p><p></p><p>“Now what?” Faust asked as he moved to Drasek’s side. </p><p>“Now I will lay this tortured soul to his final rest,” the inquisitor replied, “but perhaps not permanently.” Reaching down, he wrenched one boney finger from the ghoul’s hand before stuffing its body into the extra-dimensional space of his magical bag.</p><p></p><p>The gravediggers at Starmantle’s Boneyard did not question the Kelemvorite priest when he commanded them to hastily dig an unmarked grave in a distant corner of the cemetery. Nor did they look back when he ordered them away once their task was completed. If the inquisitor was not intimidating enough, his companions, one a giant, the other a wretched creature that nonetheless carried death in his eyes, more than compensated.</p><p></p><p>Drasek laid the cursed priest’s remains in the grave, and then covered them with his own hands. After, he bowed his head and prayed to his god. “Lord of the Dead, please receive this tainted soul, and hear my beseechment on his behalf to judge him not on the events of his death, but instead on the deeds of his life.” Thunder rumbled somewhere in the distance, and Drasek knew his prayer had been heard.</p><p></p><p>Midnight. The doors to Bane’s Cathedral were thrown wide, and dirge-like organ music spilled out onto the Toilway. Giovanni entered the narthex of the temple, followed closely Hawk and Storm. It was the warlock’s intention to bear witness to the Banite rites and glean what meaning from them he could. Surprisingly, the atmosphere inside the church seemed almost…normal. A young priest greeted them as they entered, welcoming them to the services, and escorting them to a pew about halfway down the chapel. The other pews were about three-quarters full, with townsfolk ranging from commoners to minor nobility. Prince Embuirhan was not in attendance. The mood of the congregation was somber. </p><p></p><p>A thin, balding man ascended the pulpit, and officially began the service. If Hawk was expecting blood rites and human sacrifices, he was disappointed. Though the dogma of Bane that was spewed forth in a tirade from the high priest’s mouth, and the dark hymns sung by those gathered galled the paladin, he felt as though he might be listening to any street preacher. The man inspired no spirituality in his flock. In fact, the civilar noted, many of the people did not even sing along with the hymns. They merely mouthed the words, glancing furtively at those around them. It was almost as if they were present simply because they were expected to be. The service ended as abruptly as it had begun, and the congregation filed out wordlessly. Though Giovanni seemed disappointed at the lack of drama, Hawk actually found himself slightly hopeful that the people of Starmantle were not entirely beyond redemption.</p><p></p><p>Dawn found the six companions gathered in the crypt of the Church of Blessed Deliverance. Faust had shuttled them inside unobserved in the gloom just before sunrise. Now they all stood in silence as Grubber placed the severed finger that Drasek had taken from the ghoul upon the floor. He then began to pray. “Grumbar, root of the earth, hear my prayer. Return this man from your embrace, for the change that was wrought upon his soul was unnatural, and such changes are to be shunned. Let him walk once more upon the rock and soil, so that he may help us to restore the status quo.”</p><p></p><p>It was quiet for a moment, and then the finger twitched. Before their eyes, it began to grow new flesh, then a new hand, arm and so on, until in a matter of moments, a whole man lie on the hard stones. He was middle-aged, with salt-and-pepper hair, and a full beard. He opened ice-blue eyes and stared up at his saviors.</p><p>“I’m back,” he said breathlessly, sitting up and staring at his surroundings. Then, sorrow filled his eyes, and he covered his face with his hands. “What have I done?” he sobbed.</p><p>Drasek draped a robe about the man, and gently pulled him to his feet.</p><p>“Whatever wrongs you have committed have been forgiven by Kelemvor, though atonement must still be made, and you must find your own peace with Helm. Are you Rhorsk?”</p><p>The priest nodded. “I am, and I owe all of you much, not the least of which is my apology.”</p><p>“Do not think on it,” the inquisitor said, shaking his head. “But there is a way you can repay your debt. We need information.”</p><p></p><p>And so Rhorsk began his tale, which began and ended twenty years ago. At that time, the church of Helm was strong in Starmantle, though the city itself had been under the ineffective rule of one petty lord after another, culminating in Embuirhan’s rise to power. The current prince gained popularity by putting down a heretical Banite cult, which had allied itself with worshippers of Myrkul and Bhaal. During this uprising, Helm’s church had been caught in the crossfire, and had been burned to the ground by so-called bandits, though Rhorsk had his own suspicions that Embuirhan himself had ordered it. Rhorsk had been trapped in the crypt during the fire, and had ultimately resorted to eating the remains of those interred in order to survive. Thus, he had damned his own soul. Eventually, starvation claimed him, and he rose the next night as one of the gravetouched…a ghoul. He had existed in that state, tunneling his way into the city’s sewers to feed on rats and such, until yesterday. Now, he had been reborn, given another chance to make amends. He told the League members that all of the Banite heretics had been captured and executed, but he himself had had a chance to interrogate some of them via Speaking with the Dead. He had discovered that they had been set upon their path by a mysterious contact known to them only as Mother Maggot. This person had given the cultists the worm-eaten undead they had used to cause so much trouble, and had apparently promised more support if they were successful in the crusade against Starmantle. Rhorsk never found out what Mother Maggot’s true goals where, but he did discover that the heretics met her in a subterranean room under a house in the southeast section of the city. He was able to tell the company exactly where to find this house.</p><p></p><p>“What about Balakarde?” Grubber asked.</p><p>“I do remember a strange man visited me here, though I can’t say when. He also asked about the Ebon Triad, and compelled me to give him the same information I have just given you.”</p><p>“Thank you Rhorsk,” Drasek said. “You have been a great help to us. Do you need our assistance in leaving the city?”</p><p>“No,” the priest said thoughtfully. “I think I’ll be staying awhile. There is still good in Starmantle. I can feel it. I may see what I can do to foster that faint light. If you need me, you can leave a message for me here.”</p><p>The League members thanked him again, and took their leave, with Rhorsk already setting to work reinterring the remains of his brethren.</p><p></p><p>Rhorsk’s directions were very precise, but the building located there hardly seemed like a likely site for an Ebon Triad stronghold. It was a single story wooden structure, which was badly in need of a paint job, and listed to one side. There was a single door and no windows. A sign nailed to the door proclaimed the establishment as “The Sinner’s Sanctum.”</p><p>“Ironic,” Drasek said as he mounted the porch and rapped on the door. Almost immediately, the door was snatched open, and an elderly woman with ragged hair and an almost feral look in her eyes glared out. She was dressed in rags, and stank as if she’d not bathed in some time. Her eyes snapped to the emblem on Drasek’s armor.</p><p>“We ain’t got no dead today, Father,” she said. “Yer lot’s already been by this week.” </p><p></p><p>Trying to be unobtrusive, Giovanni pulled a scroll from his case and began reading it. When he was done, he closed his eyes and concentrated. He could sense a hidden portal somewhere within the building.</p><p>“I’m not here to collect the dead,” Drasek said, not unkindly. “I’m actually new to town, and to the local church. Would you be so kind as to tell me the nature of your establishment?”</p><p>The woman looked at him quizzically for a moment. “This be a sick-house, Father,” she said finally. “I tend to the poor unfortunates that got no other resources.”</p><p>“Is that so?” Drasek said, intrigued. “Would you mind if we came in and had a look around?”</p><p>She peered cautiously at the inquisitor’s comrades, then shrugged. “Suit yerself, but don’t blame me if’n you come out with more than ye came in with.”</p><p></p><p>The bulk of the interior was taken up by a single, large room. The incense-laden air failed to cover the unmistakable stink of sickness. Twelve people lay on makeshift pallets throughout the area. Grubber went to the nearest one, a man of indeterminate age who burned with fever.</p><p>“These people are dying,” he told Drasek.</p><p>“Didn’t I tell ye so?” the old woman said. “But not to worry. Lord Embuirhan’s promised me elixirs to cure all their ailments, so he has.”</p><p>“Forgive me,” Drasek said, also kneeling by one of the patients, “but I’ve been discourteous. What is you name, dear lady? I am called Drasek.”</p><p>“Furtopia,” she said.</p><p>“Yes, well Miss Furtopia,” Drasek continued, “with all due respect, I do not believe these poor souls will live to see that day. My colleague and I, however, may be able to offer some immediate assistance.”</p><p>Furtopia looked wary, but reluctantly, she nodded. Grubber and Drasek each began to pray over their respective wards, and in a matter of moments, the ashen pallor had left the faces of the patients, and their breathing became more regular as they drifted into a peaceful sleep.</p><p>“Well I’ll be,” Furtopia said, amazed. </p><p>“We can help the rest as well,” Drasek said. “I give you my word, I’ll come by daily until they are all cured.”</p><p>“That’d be right kind of ya, Father,” Furtopia said, “but there’s always more sickness to come. Mark my words.”</p><p>“Of course,” Drasek said. “If I may beg your tolerance a moment longer, there is another reason I have come here.”</p><p>Furtopia looked at him questioningly.</p><p>“I have reason to believe,” Drasek continued, “that there is evil in this house, specifically, below it.” </p><p>“What??” Furtopia shouted. “I’ve never heard the like. There ain’t nothin’ underneath this house. I ain’t even got a proper cellar!”</p><p>“Begging your pardon, Madame,” Giovanni said, emerging from a back room where he had managed sneak off to, “but you are mistaken. Let me show you.”</p><p>Cautiously, Furtopia followed the warlock into the small pantry, where a trapdoor stood open. Iron rungs led down the shaft below into darkness. Furtopia looked genuinely shocked. </p><p>“That hole just feels wrong, dearies. None of old Furtopia’s business can be down there.”</p><p>“I agree,” Drasek said, “but our business does lie below. All I ask is that you inform no one of our presence. Should we not return by dawn tomorrow, please take this letter and leave it at the ruins of the Church of Blessed Deliverance.” He handed the old woman a folded piece of parchment. She took it with shaking hands, and nodded wordlessly.</p><p>“Time to go,” the inquisitor said to his comrades.</p><p></p><p>The shaft was deep, at least a hundred feet. Hawk, using one of his ubiquitous potions of flight, had scouted ahead of the rest. Now that he could see the bottom, he signaled back to them via the Mindlink, and then descended the rest of the way. No sooner had he reached the end of the tube, than he saw the rest of the group appear on the floor beneath him, courtesy of Faust’s Dimension Door.</p><p></p><p>The walls of the domed chamber beyond the shaft were made of red brick and lined with stone beams that arched up to a point directly overhead where the shaft led back up to the sickhouse. The iron ladder continued on from the ceiling to the floor. The chamber itself was empty, save for several rotting prayer mats strewn about. Each bore a simple black triangle, which Hawk identified as the symbol of the Ebon Triad. A five-foot wide hallway led east, and a large heap of tangled rope lay in its entrance. At that moment, two things happened simultaneously. The vest that Hawk wore beneath his armor began to tingle, while at the same time, the mass of rope began to writhe of its on accord, forming itself into a large, humanoid shape.</p><p>“It’s a golem!” Hawk shouted, intuitively warned by the magic vest.</p><p>Reacting instantly to Hawk’s warning, Havok loosed a spear of emerald energy at the creature, but in his haste, his aim was off, and stone chips fell from the ceiling where his blast struck. Grubber lunged forward, swinging his maul in a huge arc. Though the head of the hammer connected solidly with the rope-creature, there was too much give in the material for it to do much damage. Again, Hawk instinctively knew what the problem was. Most golems, being constructs rather than living beings, were innately resistant to harm from most weapons, even magical ones. However, another benefit of the vest that the civilar wore was that it allowed his own weapons to overcome those resistances. Hovering above the golem, he whirled his blade about him, slashing at the large hawsers which comprised its body, and cutting several of them in half. </p><p></p><p>Faust, by virtue of having to have been the central point around which the others had gathered for their little dimensional jaunt, was trapped among his colleagues, and well within reach of the rope-golem, a position he certainly did not relish. Morphing himself into a stone giant, as was his habit, he immediately manifested a current of fire at the construct, reasoning that its flammable form should burn quite easily. He was wrong. As soon as the beam struck the golem, it simply dissipated. Hawk could have told him that the construct was magic resistant as well.</p><p></p><p>Havok was aware of this fact, but he also knew that creatures or things that were Summoned by magic were able to bypass this property of golems. Thus, when he conjured up a forest of tentacles in the hall directly behind the creature, it was unable to escape their rubbery grasp. </p><p></p><p>While the construct struggled, Grubber and Drasek moved in, adding their blows to Hawks, though it was the civilar by far who wreaked the most havoc, and who ultimately brought the creature down.</p><p></p><p>“A guardian of some sort,” Drasek observed, once he was sure the construct was destroyed.</p><p>“A Hangman golem,” Faust said. “It would take a powerful wizard to create such a thing. If the Ebon Triad is able to employ such arcanists, we may be in for more than we can handle.”</p><p></p><p>Beyond the archway was a short hall with shallow alcoves on each side. As she passed by one of these, Storm reached down and picked up something that caught her eye. It was a desiccated green worm. </p><p>“At least we know we’re on the right path,” the sorceress said, unnecessarily. </p><p>At the end of the hall, a fifteen-foot wide pit yawned. The walls were lined with bricks and caked with mold and less-identifiable encrustations, and in the places where these growths weren’t too thick, strange figures and runes were visible carved into the bricks. Faust bent low to examine the runes, then stood with a puzzled look on his face.</p><p>“Unless I miss my guess,” the psion said, “these are Avolakia runes. They are some sort of intelligent worm with the capability to assume humanoid form. I can’t decipher the writing itself.”</p><p>“We’ll worry about it later,” Hawk said, “after we see what’s down shaft number two.”</p><p></p><p>Drasek, Faust and Storm quickly imbued themselves and Havok with the power of flight, leaving only Grubber. The goliath refused, choosing instead to imbibe a potion which gave him the power to scale walls like a spider. As the others disappeared down the well, Grubber began the slow descent behind them.</p><p></p><p>This time the shaft descended over three-hundred feet. It emptied through the ceiling of an immense chamber, its domed roof a full fifty feet over a black floor, worn smooth by the passage of countless creatures. Alcoves in the north and south walls held wretched statues of worm-like monsters coiled around pillars of skulls and bones. A single object occupied the room’s eastern half…a huge statue with three heads. One was bestial, while the other two were skull-like, one of them cowled. It had six arms, three ending in black-taloned hands, while the other three had skeletal appendages. It towered thirty feet in height, and seemed to be made of some strange stone that looked almost like leather in places, and the eyes in its bestial visage seemed wet, soft and almost alive. Hawk and Storm immediately recognized the statue as a much larger representation of the Ebon Aspect they had fought in the mines beneath Daggerford. That creature had combined features of Bane, Bhaal and Myrkul, as did this statue, only, it became readily apparent when the thing began to move, that it was not a statue at all.</p><p></p><p>The thing’s speed belied its bulk, and it closed the intervening distance rapidly. With one great claw, it ripped at Faust, just managing to reach the psion’s leg and tearing a large hunk out of his calf. Then, its brow furrowed, and a glowing, black morningstar appeared out of thin air next to Havok. Luckily, the warlock had thought to create several illusory images of himself before he descended the shaft, and it was one of these that the morningstar struck, shattering it as if it were made of glass.</p><p></p><p>Drasek could see that Faust was in trouble. Worse, Storm was within striking distance as well. Neither the psion nor the sorceress would last long against the behemoth, so the inquisitor made a snap decision. Diving down, he closed with the beast, intending to interpose himself between it and his less hardy allies. As he came, the Ebon Aspect struck at him, the jaws of its beast head snapping shut on one ankle. Drasek could feel the bones snap. Still, he did not hesitate, swinging his maul into the side of the brute’s face. </p><p></p><p>Havok felt safe, at least for the moment. He still had several images between himself and the spiritual weapon. Taking careful aim, he let loose his most powerful manifestation of his eldritch power, the beam tearing into the Ebon Aspect’s chest, causing the huge beast to stumble back a step. Faust and Storm were not feeling so lucky. Both retreated into the relative safety of the shaft, but not before Storm attempted a trick she had learned from the worm nagas of Kuluth-Mar…a Feeblemind spell. Unfortunately, not only did the spell fail to have its desired effect, but it seemed to actually heal some of the damage done by Havok. She would not soon be trying that again.</p><p></p><p>Hawk moved quickly to Drasek’s side, again trying to buy some time for the artillerists. As he drew near the creature, however, he saw an abrupt change come over it. All six of its eyes began to glow red, and foam slavered from the jaws of its central head. Many of its wounds began to knit at an alarming rate, and it roared at the ceiling, shaking loose bits of stone and dust. With blinding speed, it struck, yet it seemed to Hawk as it everything slowed to a crawl. First one claw, then another, and another tore into Drasek, each blow making great rents in the inquisitor’s armor, and in the flesh beneath. Blood flew in all directions like a geyser, and Drasek screamed, yet that cry was cut short a moment later as the Ebon Aspect’s jaws clamped around his neck, and tore out his throat. In disbelief, Hawk watched his friend fall to the floor, fifty feet below, where he lay still in an ever-growing pool of his own blood. Before the civilar could react, one of those platter-sized paws hammered into him, batting his shield aside as if it were nothing. He could see his own death coming in those crimson eyes.</p><p></p><p>Havok was just as stunned as Hawk at what had just occurred, but he had his own problems. The ebony Morningstar destroyed two more of his images, and then struck him twice. The warlock knew his own limitations, and hand-to-hand combat was one of them. Still, he couldn’t just leave Hawk to die. Concentrating, he unleashed back-to-back eldritch blasts, both infused with all the power he could muster. Each one struck the Ebon Aspect, opening horrible wounds in its hide, yet it still stood. That was it. Havok knew he had to get away from the disembodied weapon, or he would be no better off than Drasek. Quickly, he soared up into the shaft, but was amazed to see Storm and Faust passing him on their way back down.</p><p></p><p>The psion and the drow knew they might very well be going to their deaths, but it was a risk they were more than willing to take. Hawk and Drasek had certainly risked their own lives countless times before, and now Drasek had paid with his. Together, the psion and the sorceress attacked. Storm hurled a sizzling orb of lightning at the same time that Faust manifested a current of electricity. Both struck the Ebon Aspect unerringly, and like a mighty oak being felled, it collapsed to the floor.</p><p></p><p>Drasek was dead, and by the time Grubber reached the bottom of the well, it was far too late to help the inquisitor. The League would morn their friend in time, but for the moment, they were going to see if his sacrifice was worth the price. After conducting a thorough search of the chamber, they discovered a hollow wall, behind which was a small fortune in coins, gems, and magical items. Apparently some sort of emergency fund for the Ebon Triad. </p><p></p><p>Giovanni used another of his many scrolls to allow himself to read the tortuous writings of the Avolakia. They were monstrously vile prayers to Kyuss. A recurring theme in them was the mention of a ceremony known as The Ravenous Awakening, during which huge numbers of undead were animated and then led like cattle into vast banquet halls where they would present themselves to the feasters for consumption. The writings also revealed that, though the Avolakia worshipped Kyuss above all things, they seemed to believe his power was waning. The passages suggested that Kyuss was trapped in some form of large, stone monolith. They said that he had managed to partially escape his prison once, fifteen-hundred years earlier, but he was unable to maintain his freedom for longer than a few short months before the defeat of his armies by a force referred to only as the Enemy, which also forced Kyuss back into his monolithic prison. More obscure mentions in the writings included reference to a location called M’theskuss, the Writhing Tabernacle, which the Avolakias seemed to hold as the most holy site of Kyuss. Mention was also made of their great ally, and the Voice of Kyuss, the Consort of the Five-Faced One, the eternal dragon Dragotha. </p><p></p><p>All of this Giovanni related to his remaining companions before they gathered Drasek’s remains and returned to the sickhouse. Back in the pantry, Grubber created a small, iron seal over the hole, preventing anyone from returning that way again. Furtopia was horror-stricken when she saw Drasek’s body.</p><p>“By the Gods,” she whispered.</p><p>“Do not fear,” Grubber said, “I will keep his promise to you, and tend your charges. The evil below has been cleansed. It will not trouble you again.”</p><p></p><p>Concealing Drasek’s remains within their bag of holding, the group made their way once more to the Church of Blessed Deliverance, and into the crypt below. There they found Rhorsk, still busy with his clean up. They quickly explained what they had found and what had befallen Drasek. The priest of Helm nodded in understanding.</p><p>“He made his wishes clear,” Grubber said in conclusion. “If he were to die, he knew that it was his time. He wanted to remain with Kelemvor. We have no way to give him the proper rites in a city such as this, and we dare not turn him over to his brethren at the Scarlet Spire.”</p><p>“Leave it to me,” Rhorsk said quietly, “I will lay him to rest with all the honor that he deserves. This place has been consecrated once again. He will lie with others who have martyred themselves before him, and he will know peace.”</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="gfunk, post: 2813731, member: 1813"] STARMANTLE Malchor Harpell sat brooding in his study for some time after the members of the League had departed for Starmantle. He had provided them with a detailed painting of the city gates to get their bearings, thus allowing them to teleport en masse. Now, he was deeply troubled. Not only had the rogue Shay abandoned the group, but at the last minute, the dwarven mineral warrior had also begged off. Grim had stated that he felt honor-bound to return to his clan and warn them of the impending danger of the Age of Worms. That left only six of the group…six to fight an undead army. The archmage still felt in his heart that he could not intervene directly. He had made some powerful enemies in his life, and were he to actively join in the search for the truth behind the Age of Worms, those enemies would likely be moved to join the opposition. Still, that did not mean he was completely without recourse. “Celeste,” he said, turning to the ghaele, who was busy perusing more of the library’s tomes. “I think it might be wise for you to pay a visit to Baldur’s Gate. See if our old friend Pavel is between employers.” Starmantle perched upon a rocky outcropping which curled around a natural harbor. Numerous ships, from proud sailing vessels to small rickety fishing sloops found shelter there. Buildings had been crammed onto the promontory with such congestion that they almost seemed afraid of the gray, featureless lands beyond…rotting hills of brown and black and gray stones, and vast muddy tidal flats pocked with collapsed structures and stunted trees. The town itself was a montage of different architectural styles, designs, and cultures. Black towers rose ominously along the walls and cliffs surrounding the town, while intimidating golden-domed temples and pagodas cast shadows upon huge wood and stone manor houses that reached cathedral height. Interspersed with these were endless rows of hovels made from bits of timber, barrels, sides of boats and rubbish. The shanties spread at the feet of the town like flotsam washed up at the seashore. Three structures dominated Starmantle’s skyline. In the center of town rose an ominous cathedral, while on the highest cliffside stood a grand palace. However, even the palace was dwarfed by another structure in the southwestern section of the city. There, a massive ziggurat of red stone appeared to be under construction. Above all of this circled crows…thousands upon thousands of them, like black storm clouds. The League had appeared a half-mile from the city walls, so as not to attract suspicion. As they approached the town, a steady stream of travelers, both coming and going, grew along the road. Soon, they reached a pair of massive gates, where a passively disinterested hobgoblin guard stood with a ledger. “What’s yer business in town?” he muttered. “We’re here to see that zig…” Faust began before Hawk elbowed him aside. “We’re here to spend some coin and see the sights,” the civilar said. Hawk had put away his Waterdhavian insignia, and now wore a featureless tabard over his armor, though the symbol of Helm still hung from its chain around his neck. Drasek likewise made no effort to disguise the skeletal hand grasping a set of scales that was Kelemvor’s sign. The hobgoblin grunted, barely giving them a second glance and waved them through. Upon entering the town, the group was immediately struck by the overtly festive atmosphere. Banners and pennants hung from every building and sign post, and it seemed the populace was preparing for some sort of celebration. Hawk’s eyes narrowed and his jaw tensed, however, as he saw the emblem emblazoned on the banners…the upraised black fist of Bane. The civilar pointed this out to Drasek, and the inquisitor had to forcibly restrain himself from ripping down one of the pennants. “Joy to you on this day strangers!” a matronly shopkeeper called out. “A blessing upon you for visiting our humble land!” “All hail the Black Hand!” Faust called back enthusiastically, earning withering glares from both paladins. “When in Starmantle…” the psion shrugged. He turned his attention back to the shopkeeper. “Tell me dear lady, what is the occasion for this celebration?” The woman’s smile never wavered, but something in her eyes seemed to question its sincerity. “Why, it is the twentieth anniversary of our Lord Embuirhan's rule of Starmantle, blessed be his name! There will be parades and entertainment all week long in Lowtown, not to mention the wonderful sales in the merchant’s market! Then, at the end of the week, Lord Embuirhan will host his annual extravaganza at the palace! Everyone who is anyone will be in attendance!” “I see,” said Faust, maintaining his own false grin. “Can you tell us where some weary travelers might find accommodations nearby?” She pointed up the main thoroughfare. “The Deluxury is the finest inn in all Starmantle, though I dare say it will cost a pretty copper. The Ogre’s Hideout is certainly more affordable, but it caters to a less sophisticated crowd. I don’t think it would suit the tastes of gentlefolk such as yourselves.” “You have our thanks,” Faust bowed, “and may the firm Hand of Tyranny always hold you under its thumb!” “We are trying to maintain a low profile,” Faust said as the group continued along the road. “Perhaps less conspicuous lodging would be in order?” Hawk looked dubious. “Perhaps. We can at least have a look.” The Ogre’s Hideout, as it turned out, was only a block or so off the Toil Road. It was a rough looking establishment, much like many other inns the adventurers had frequented in their travels. The taproom was large and well-stocked, but unimaginative. It was also crowded with hobgoblins…large, burly sorts, well-armed and well-armored. The innkeeper was a small, jumpy looking man who’s eyes kept darting here and there among his patrons. “Good day to you, sir!” Faust said as he approached the bar. “Might I have your name?” “Frill Breskered,” the man answered. “Who’s asking?” “Faust Cenodoxus,” Faust replied, “but you can call me Holocaust. My companions and I were wondering if you had any rooms available.” Breskered shook his head, “No singles. All of them are rented out,” he nodded towards the hobgoblins. “All I’ve got’s common rooms.” At this point, Grubber leaned across the bar. “I hope you don’t mind my presumption,” the goliath rumbled, towering over the little man, “but you seem troubled. Are your current clients causing you mischief?” Hastily, Breskered shook his head, “No sir. None at all.” Faust didn’t think he sounded very convincing. “Because if they are,” the psion said conspiratorially, “my friend here,” he hooked a thumb at Hawk, “absolutely detests goblins of any sort. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind freeing up a few rooms for you.” At this the innkeeper’s eyes widened, “Oh no! No sir! I don’t want any trouble here! The last thing I need’s for the Blessed Angels to come poking around! Please, either take the room I got or move along!” “Blessed Angels?” Giovanni asked, suddenly intrigued. “Our protectors,” Breskered said, hastily making the sign of the Evil Eye. “They are both beautiful and terrible to behold, with their fiery hair, and black wings! They root out heretics and miscreants, like the rabble-rousers who distribute the Sinchaser Report!” The warlock raised a questioning eyebrow. “It’s a newspaper,” the innkeeper said, his voice low. “Full of all kinds of lies about Lord Embuirhan. It’s illegal to even be discussing it!” “Yes,” Hawk said, interrupting before Faust could stick his foot in his mouth, “well, we can see you are a busy man, and we will not trouble you further. Come on,” he said to the others. “We’re leaving.” “So what do you make of all that?” Drasek asked Hawk once they were back out on the street. “I’m not sure,” the civilar said, “but there is obviously much more going on in this town than meets the eye. I say we continue our wandering a bit longer and get a feel for the lay of the land.” Prior to departing for Starmantle, Drasek had contacted his superiors in Baldur’s Gate to update them on his progress. He had been informed of the existence of a temple to Kelemvor in Starmantle. However, the clergy of this particular temple, the so-called Scarlet Spire, were referred to as “orthodox,” that is they had once been followers of Myrkul who had reluctantly converted after the death of their god. As an inquisitor, Drasek felt that it was his duty to pay the temple an official visit. As it happened, the Scarlet Spire stood in close proximity to the largest cathedral in Starmantle…that of Bane. This, in turn, was directly across the street from the luxurious inn known as the Deluxury. Faust agreed to accompany Drasek to the Scarlet Spire, while Grubber decided to poke about in Lowtown in search of any leads. Giovanni, Hawk and Storm had a plan of their own. It was Giovanni’s intention to purchase the finest noble garb that he could afford, and then pay a visit to the Red Blades Merchant Consortium, the equivalent of the merchants’ guild in Starmantle. The warlock’s family, House Vito, held a prominent position among the merchant houses of Sembia, and now he intended to drop that name and see if it would help him to procure an invitation for Embuirhan’s gala. No one need know that he was considered outcast from his family. Hawk would pose as his bodyguard, and Storm as his concubine. Appearances were everything. When Faust and Drasek entered the sanctuary of the Scarlet Spire, they were immediately greeted by a bustling acolyte. The young priest’s eyes went wide when he saw Drasek’s insignia. “My…my Lord Inquisitor!” the boy stammered. “This is a most…unexpected honor!” “No one expects the Kelemvorite Inquisition,” Drasek said in a bored voice, casually looking around at the opulent décor of the chapel. Obviously the church was thriving. The inquisitor’s suspicions immediately increased. “Fetch your superior lad,” he commanded. “The High Priestess…dislikes being disturbed,” the acolyte whispered, eyes downcast. Drasek drew himself up to his full height, “I am certain she would dislike the fact that you refused the order of an Inquisitor far more!” “Yes my Lord!” the boy answered, bowing and bobbing back down the aisle, disappearing through a side door. A short time later, a middle-aged woman dressed in luxurious vestments appeared thru the door. The expression on her face was as severe as the bun which held back her iron-grey hair. “What is the meaning of this?” she demanded, striding boldly up to Drasek. “I was not informed of this inquisition!” “Whom do I have the pleasure of addressing?” Drasek said softly, a note of warning in his tone. “I am Almerah Kosen, High Priestess of the Scarlet Spire of Kelemvor,” the woman intoned. “I am Drasek, but you may address me as Lord Inquisitor, and as you well know, the Inquisition goes where it is needed, not where it is invited. I have come to Starmantle to pay my respects to Lord Embuirhan on the occasion of his anniversary, but it has come to my attention that your enclave has had a dramatic increase in the size of your coffers…a bounty that has not been passed along in your annual tithes. Would you care to explain the nature of this boon?” Almerah looked incensed…worse, she looked ready to kill. Visible restraint showed in the tense working of her jaw muscles. “The ascension of the church of Bane since Lord Embuirhan’s rise to power has not been favorable to us,” she said sharply. “We were still accorded our traditional duties of tending the cemetery, but beyond that we were barely tolerated. We had to devise…other means to support our ministry.” “And what would those be?” Drasek asked coldly. Almerah seemed reluctant, but finally she said, “We offer some of our divine favors to the nobility. They come to us seeking to maintain and prolong their youth and beauty.” “Surely you are not prolonging lives by artificial means?” Drasek demanded. “That is an abomination!” “Of course not!” Almerah snapped. “We merely offer cosmetic services.” “I see,” Drasek nodded. “However, I’m sure you will not mind if I ascertain for myself the nature of these services. I will be here for at least a week. I will require suitable quarters here in the church for myself and my assistant.” Almerah’s eyes widened, and she looked with unveiled disgust at Faust. “Surely you would be more comfortable in one of the local inns,” she began, but Drasek cut her short. “I will stay here,” he said with finality. “Very well,” the High Priestess said tightly. “Arrangements will be made. Now, if you will excuse me, I have important duties to attend to.” “I’m sure,” Drasek said to her retreating back. Grubber made his way down to the dock district, which proved to be as seedy and rundown as any such area in any large city. Hobgoblins seemed to comprise the bulk of the sailors and stevedores, but a few humans and half-orcs were also in attendance. The goliath briefly toyed with the idea of preaching Grumbar’s Word to the seamen regarding the inherent dangers of water travel, but the grim faces and plethora of blades boasted by the sailors gave him pause. The goliath was certainly no expert when it came to being unobtrusive, and the first several people he stopped to ask information from either ignored him completely, or cursed roundly, placing their hands on the hilts of their steel. Finally, he approached an elderly fish monger who didn’t accost him outright. “Your pardon dear lady,” he bowed. This earned him a cackle of laughter from the snaggle-toothed crone. “Lady is it?” she laughed. “Why I’ve not been called such in three-score years, and even then it weren’t meant as a compliment. Yer not from around here, are ye big’un?” “No Madame, I am not,” Grubber said, perplexed at her reaction. He couldn’t tell if she was amused or angered. “Well I ain’t no Madame neither,” the woman chortled. “If’n I were, it sure wouldn’t be scrod I’d be peddlin’, now would it? What is it ye want lad?” Grubber was momentarily at a loss for words, and as he finally caught her meaning, a deep blush crept up his gray cheeks. “I…I’m looking for someone,” he finally managed to stammer. “Do you know a wizard named Balakarde?” “Never heard of’im,” the crone answered, shaking her head. “Oh. I see,” Grubber paused. “What about a man named Rhorsk? He is a Helmite priest from this town.” “Helmite!” The woman shrieked with laughter. “Helmet-head’s more like it! If it’s those type yer lookin’ fer, ye’d best go to the Church of Blessed Deliverance. Ye’ll find all the Helmites ye want there!” Still laughing, she turned and walked away, leaving the goliath even more perplexed. After procuring a suite at the Deluxury (for the exorbitant fee of one-hundred gold crowns a night…each!), Giovanni Vito, his bodyguard, and his concubine worked their way across town to the Red Blades Merchant Consortium. The building seemed like any other guildhall on the inside, with merchants ranging from street vendors to wealthy craftsmen mingling in a large common room. A young, bearded man wearing a fez cap sat behind a desk scribbling in a ledger. “May I be of service?” he asked, looking up as Giovanni and his contingent entered. “I am Giovanni Vito,” the warlock said, “of the Sembian Vitos. Perhaps you’ve heard of my family.” The man shrugged, “The name sounds familiar.” “Yes, well,” Giovanni continued, clearing his throat, “I am looking at some business ventures in Starmantle. Is your master available?” The man snorted. “I’m afraid not. Mistress Mahuudril is rarely in attendance here.” “I see,” the warlock said, looking pensive. “Do you expect her any time soon? I will only be in town for the week, until the prince’s gala.” “Oh?” the scribe said, raising one eyebrow. “Then you should certainly run into the guildmistress there.” “Ah,” said Giovanni. “You wouldn’t happen to know how one might go about procuring an invitation, would you?” “You are planning on attending the gala, and you don’t have an invitation?” the man said, a bemused look on his face. “Well, as I mentioned, I’ve only just arrived in town and heard news of the celebration,” Giovanni answered. “I’m afraid I can’t help you,” the scribe said, going back to his ledger, “and I wouldn’t count on running into Mahuudril while you’re here. She usually doesn’t involve herself in the more mundane aspects of our business.” For a moment, Giovanni thought he detected a faint note of bitterness or resentment in the man’s tone. “Can I have your name, sir?” the warlock asked politely. “I am Trell, sergeant-at-arms for the guild,” he replied. “A pleasure, Mr. Trell. Forgive me for being intrusive, but I could not help but notice that you don’t seem very fond or your mistress.” Trell was silent for a moment, and then looked around for any nearby eavesdroppers. “Look,” he said finally, “you seem a good sort, so I’ll give you a bit of advice. Take your business elsewhere. Starmantle is not the place for free and fair trade. Mahuudril has a monopoly on the merchant enterprise here, and she doesn’t share with anyone.” “Nevertheless,” Giovanni said, leaning forward and lowering his voice, “I am looking to expand my family’s interests into this market, and I will be in need of someone trustworthy who is not afraid to take a financial risk or two. Perhaps I could contact you again sometime Mr. Trell?” Trell nodded cautiously. “Excellent,” the warlock said, pulling his cloak around him. “If you happen to come across any leads on securing attendance at the gala, I will be staying at the Deluxury.” With that, he beckoned Hawk and Storm to follow, and they departed the guildhall. ‘Have you been to the church yet?’ Faust asked Grubber through the Mindlink he had erected among the group before they separated earlier in the day. ‘No,’ Grubber responded. ‘I thought I would contact the rest of you first.’ ‘Wise move,’ the psion replied. ‘Havok, Drasek and I are closer. We will meet Grubber at this Church of Blessed Deliverance. We will stay in contact with you.’ ‘I’m not sure I like this,’ the warlock said. ‘Just be careful.’ ‘My middle name,’ Faust laughed. The bitter irony of the church of “Blessed Deliverance” was not lost on Faust, Drasek and Grubber. The building was a blackened hulk, a monument to loss and ruin. Melted stained glass depictions of angels appeared to writhe in the black kiss of fire in the few walls that still stood. Those sagging, blackened ruins bore numerous signs which read, “Condemned by the Order and Ineffable Wisdom of Almighty Prince Embuirhan…Entry Prohibited!” “I hate this city,” Drasek said in a soft, deadly voice. “Do you want to take a look inside?” Faust asked. “What would be the point?” Grubber answered. “I want to go in,” said Drasek. “If nothing else, at least I can sanctify this place, so that some small beacon of light might shine in this hell hole.” “Gather around me,” Faust said. “I don’t think we should make this too obvious. Don’t want to attract any ‘Blessed Angels.’” Stepping into a nearby alley, the trio huddled together while Faust transdimensionally transported them inside the ruins. The interior was just as blasted as the exterior. Nothing was intact, and rubble was piled head high. However, as Grubber poked around beneath one of these piles, he found a concealed trapdoor. Calling the others to him, he heaved on the lift-ring and hoisted the rusted door open. Underneath, a steep, circular stairwell led down into darkness. “The crypt,” Drasek said, staring down. “Do you hear that?” Grubber asked, whispering. From the darkness, a faint, low moan drifted up. Drasek looked at his companions, and then started down. The crypt was a shambles. In places, the low ceiling sagged ominously. Bones were scattered in tangled heaps all over the floor, and the twelve tombs that surrounded the central chamber had been violated. The brick-lined crypt walls had been torn down, and narrow, claustrophobic tunnels had been dug through the stony earth. “Those are not natural,” Grubber said, peering at the tunnels. “They were made by magic.” At that moment, a piercing shriek filled the air. From behind a mound of rubble at the far end of the crypt, a creature shambled. It looked like a twisted, feral, gray-skinned man with large, jagged fingernails, sharp teeth, red eyes and festering skin. Its body seemed frail and emaciated, save for its belly, which was disturbingly round and full. The creature wore tattered remnants of once fine robes over a gleaming chain shirt. The robes bore the symbol of Helm. “It’s some sort of ghoul,” Faust said quietly, “and yet, I sense an intelligent mind beneath. Peace!” the psion called out. “We too venerate the Watcher, and revile the Black Hand!” The creature hissed and babbled, waving its hands in agitation. “Let me try,” Drasek said, slowly approaching the ghoul, and brandishing Kelemvor’s symbol. “We mean you no harm,” he spoke in a soothing tone. “We are looking for a priest named Rhorsk. Do you know what has become of him?” For an instant, Drasek swore that he saw a flicker of recognition in the creature’s eyes, but then its gaze fell upon his holy symbol, and a blind rage seemed to overtake it. Incredibly, it began a chanting incantation that was undeniably spellcasting. Rushing forward, Drasek swatted the ghouls gesticulating hands aside with the head of his maul. Hissing in anger, the creature retreated several steps, and began another spell. This time it was successful, and a baleful glow surrounded its clawed hand. Drasek recognized the spell as one that was capable of weakening servants of Law, such as himself. With a snarl, the ghoul darted forward, laying its limned hand on the inquisitor’s chest. Drasek felt a brief surge of dark energy pulse through his body, but it passed quickly, his faith in Kelemvor too strong to allow such a weak enchantment to affect him. “Enough!” Faust commanded from the far side of the crypt, and at his shout, the ghoul went rigid. “Kneel before the Hand of Kelemvor!” the psion intoned, and the creature’s knees folded beneath it as it dropped to the ground at Drasek’s feet. “In the name of Kelemvor,” Drasek intoned, “I commend your eternal soul to his benevolent embrace!” With that, he brought his maul down upon the ghoul’s forehead, and it fell as if poleaxed, twitching once, then moving no more. “Now what?” Faust asked as he moved to Drasek’s side. “Now I will lay this tortured soul to his final rest,” the inquisitor replied, “but perhaps not permanently.” Reaching down, he wrenched one boney finger from the ghoul’s hand before stuffing its body into the extra-dimensional space of his magical bag. The gravediggers at Starmantle’s Boneyard did not question the Kelemvorite priest when he commanded them to hastily dig an unmarked grave in a distant corner of the cemetery. Nor did they look back when he ordered them away once their task was completed. If the inquisitor was not intimidating enough, his companions, one a giant, the other a wretched creature that nonetheless carried death in his eyes, more than compensated. Drasek laid the cursed priest’s remains in the grave, and then covered them with his own hands. After, he bowed his head and prayed to his god. “Lord of the Dead, please receive this tainted soul, and hear my beseechment on his behalf to judge him not on the events of his death, but instead on the deeds of his life.” Thunder rumbled somewhere in the distance, and Drasek knew his prayer had been heard. Midnight. The doors to Bane’s Cathedral were thrown wide, and dirge-like organ music spilled out onto the Toilway. Giovanni entered the narthex of the temple, followed closely Hawk and Storm. It was the warlock’s intention to bear witness to the Banite rites and glean what meaning from them he could. Surprisingly, the atmosphere inside the church seemed almost…normal. A young priest greeted them as they entered, welcoming them to the services, and escorting them to a pew about halfway down the chapel. The other pews were about three-quarters full, with townsfolk ranging from commoners to minor nobility. Prince Embuirhan was not in attendance. The mood of the congregation was somber. A thin, balding man ascended the pulpit, and officially began the service. If Hawk was expecting blood rites and human sacrifices, he was disappointed. Though the dogma of Bane that was spewed forth in a tirade from the high priest’s mouth, and the dark hymns sung by those gathered galled the paladin, he felt as though he might be listening to any street preacher. The man inspired no spirituality in his flock. In fact, the civilar noted, many of the people did not even sing along with the hymns. They merely mouthed the words, glancing furtively at those around them. It was almost as if they were present simply because they were expected to be. The service ended as abruptly as it had begun, and the congregation filed out wordlessly. Though Giovanni seemed disappointed at the lack of drama, Hawk actually found himself slightly hopeful that the people of Starmantle were not entirely beyond redemption. Dawn found the six companions gathered in the crypt of the Church of Blessed Deliverance. Faust had shuttled them inside unobserved in the gloom just before sunrise. Now they all stood in silence as Grubber placed the severed finger that Drasek had taken from the ghoul upon the floor. He then began to pray. “Grumbar, root of the earth, hear my prayer. Return this man from your embrace, for the change that was wrought upon his soul was unnatural, and such changes are to be shunned. Let him walk once more upon the rock and soil, so that he may help us to restore the status quo.” It was quiet for a moment, and then the finger twitched. Before their eyes, it began to grow new flesh, then a new hand, arm and so on, until in a matter of moments, a whole man lie on the hard stones. He was middle-aged, with salt-and-pepper hair, and a full beard. He opened ice-blue eyes and stared up at his saviors. “I’m back,” he said breathlessly, sitting up and staring at his surroundings. Then, sorrow filled his eyes, and he covered his face with his hands. “What have I done?” he sobbed. Drasek draped a robe about the man, and gently pulled him to his feet. “Whatever wrongs you have committed have been forgiven by Kelemvor, though atonement must still be made, and you must find your own peace with Helm. Are you Rhorsk?” The priest nodded. “I am, and I owe all of you much, not the least of which is my apology.” “Do not think on it,” the inquisitor said, shaking his head. “But there is a way you can repay your debt. We need information.” And so Rhorsk began his tale, which began and ended twenty years ago. At that time, the church of Helm was strong in Starmantle, though the city itself had been under the ineffective rule of one petty lord after another, culminating in Embuirhan’s rise to power. The current prince gained popularity by putting down a heretical Banite cult, which had allied itself with worshippers of Myrkul and Bhaal. During this uprising, Helm’s church had been caught in the crossfire, and had been burned to the ground by so-called bandits, though Rhorsk had his own suspicions that Embuirhan himself had ordered it. Rhorsk had been trapped in the crypt during the fire, and had ultimately resorted to eating the remains of those interred in order to survive. Thus, he had damned his own soul. Eventually, starvation claimed him, and he rose the next night as one of the gravetouched…a ghoul. He had existed in that state, tunneling his way into the city’s sewers to feed on rats and such, until yesterday. Now, he had been reborn, given another chance to make amends. He told the League members that all of the Banite heretics had been captured and executed, but he himself had had a chance to interrogate some of them via Speaking with the Dead. He had discovered that they had been set upon their path by a mysterious contact known to them only as Mother Maggot. This person had given the cultists the worm-eaten undead they had used to cause so much trouble, and had apparently promised more support if they were successful in the crusade against Starmantle. Rhorsk never found out what Mother Maggot’s true goals where, but he did discover that the heretics met her in a subterranean room under a house in the southeast section of the city. He was able to tell the company exactly where to find this house. “What about Balakarde?” Grubber asked. “I do remember a strange man visited me here, though I can’t say when. He also asked about the Ebon Triad, and compelled me to give him the same information I have just given you.” “Thank you Rhorsk,” Drasek said. “You have been a great help to us. Do you need our assistance in leaving the city?” “No,” the priest said thoughtfully. “I think I’ll be staying awhile. There is still good in Starmantle. I can feel it. I may see what I can do to foster that faint light. If you need me, you can leave a message for me here.” The League members thanked him again, and took their leave, with Rhorsk already setting to work reinterring the remains of his brethren. Rhorsk’s directions were very precise, but the building located there hardly seemed like a likely site for an Ebon Triad stronghold. It was a single story wooden structure, which was badly in need of a paint job, and listed to one side. There was a single door and no windows. A sign nailed to the door proclaimed the establishment as “The Sinner’s Sanctum.” “Ironic,” Drasek said as he mounted the porch and rapped on the door. Almost immediately, the door was snatched open, and an elderly woman with ragged hair and an almost feral look in her eyes glared out. She was dressed in rags, and stank as if she’d not bathed in some time. Her eyes snapped to the emblem on Drasek’s armor. “We ain’t got no dead today, Father,” she said. “Yer lot’s already been by this week.” Trying to be unobtrusive, Giovanni pulled a scroll from his case and began reading it. When he was done, he closed his eyes and concentrated. He could sense a hidden portal somewhere within the building. “I’m not here to collect the dead,” Drasek said, not unkindly. “I’m actually new to town, and to the local church. Would you be so kind as to tell me the nature of your establishment?” The woman looked at him quizzically for a moment. “This be a sick-house, Father,” she said finally. “I tend to the poor unfortunates that got no other resources.” “Is that so?” Drasek said, intrigued. “Would you mind if we came in and had a look around?” She peered cautiously at the inquisitor’s comrades, then shrugged. “Suit yerself, but don’t blame me if’n you come out with more than ye came in with.” The bulk of the interior was taken up by a single, large room. The incense-laden air failed to cover the unmistakable stink of sickness. Twelve people lay on makeshift pallets throughout the area. Grubber went to the nearest one, a man of indeterminate age who burned with fever. “These people are dying,” he told Drasek. “Didn’t I tell ye so?” the old woman said. “But not to worry. Lord Embuirhan’s promised me elixirs to cure all their ailments, so he has.” “Forgive me,” Drasek said, also kneeling by one of the patients, “but I’ve been discourteous. What is you name, dear lady? I am called Drasek.” “Furtopia,” she said. “Yes, well Miss Furtopia,” Drasek continued, “with all due respect, I do not believe these poor souls will live to see that day. My colleague and I, however, may be able to offer some immediate assistance.” Furtopia looked wary, but reluctantly, she nodded. Grubber and Drasek each began to pray over their respective wards, and in a matter of moments, the ashen pallor had left the faces of the patients, and their breathing became more regular as they drifted into a peaceful sleep. “Well I’ll be,” Furtopia said, amazed. “We can help the rest as well,” Drasek said. “I give you my word, I’ll come by daily until they are all cured.” “That’d be right kind of ya, Father,” Furtopia said, “but there’s always more sickness to come. Mark my words.” “Of course,” Drasek said. “If I may beg your tolerance a moment longer, there is another reason I have come here.” Furtopia looked at him questioningly. “I have reason to believe,” Drasek continued, “that there is evil in this house, specifically, below it.” “What??” Furtopia shouted. “I’ve never heard the like. There ain’t nothin’ underneath this house. I ain’t even got a proper cellar!” “Begging your pardon, Madame,” Giovanni said, emerging from a back room where he had managed sneak off to, “but you are mistaken. Let me show you.” Cautiously, Furtopia followed the warlock into the small pantry, where a trapdoor stood open. Iron rungs led down the shaft below into darkness. Furtopia looked genuinely shocked. “That hole just feels wrong, dearies. None of old Furtopia’s business can be down there.” “I agree,” Drasek said, “but our business does lie below. All I ask is that you inform no one of our presence. Should we not return by dawn tomorrow, please take this letter and leave it at the ruins of the Church of Blessed Deliverance.” He handed the old woman a folded piece of parchment. She took it with shaking hands, and nodded wordlessly. “Time to go,” the inquisitor said to his comrades. The shaft was deep, at least a hundred feet. Hawk, using one of his ubiquitous potions of flight, had scouted ahead of the rest. Now that he could see the bottom, he signaled back to them via the Mindlink, and then descended the rest of the way. No sooner had he reached the end of the tube, than he saw the rest of the group appear on the floor beneath him, courtesy of Faust’s Dimension Door. The walls of the domed chamber beyond the shaft were made of red brick and lined with stone beams that arched up to a point directly overhead where the shaft led back up to the sickhouse. The iron ladder continued on from the ceiling to the floor. The chamber itself was empty, save for several rotting prayer mats strewn about. Each bore a simple black triangle, which Hawk identified as the symbol of the Ebon Triad. A five-foot wide hallway led east, and a large heap of tangled rope lay in its entrance. At that moment, two things happened simultaneously. The vest that Hawk wore beneath his armor began to tingle, while at the same time, the mass of rope began to writhe of its on accord, forming itself into a large, humanoid shape. “It’s a golem!” Hawk shouted, intuitively warned by the magic vest. Reacting instantly to Hawk’s warning, Havok loosed a spear of emerald energy at the creature, but in his haste, his aim was off, and stone chips fell from the ceiling where his blast struck. Grubber lunged forward, swinging his maul in a huge arc. Though the head of the hammer connected solidly with the rope-creature, there was too much give in the material for it to do much damage. Again, Hawk instinctively knew what the problem was. Most golems, being constructs rather than living beings, were innately resistant to harm from most weapons, even magical ones. However, another benefit of the vest that the civilar wore was that it allowed his own weapons to overcome those resistances. Hovering above the golem, he whirled his blade about him, slashing at the large hawsers which comprised its body, and cutting several of them in half. Faust, by virtue of having to have been the central point around which the others had gathered for their little dimensional jaunt, was trapped among his colleagues, and well within reach of the rope-golem, a position he certainly did not relish. Morphing himself into a stone giant, as was his habit, he immediately manifested a current of fire at the construct, reasoning that its flammable form should burn quite easily. He was wrong. As soon as the beam struck the golem, it simply dissipated. Hawk could have told him that the construct was magic resistant as well. Havok was aware of this fact, but he also knew that creatures or things that were Summoned by magic were able to bypass this property of golems. Thus, when he conjured up a forest of tentacles in the hall directly behind the creature, it was unable to escape their rubbery grasp. While the construct struggled, Grubber and Drasek moved in, adding their blows to Hawks, though it was the civilar by far who wreaked the most havoc, and who ultimately brought the creature down. “A guardian of some sort,” Drasek observed, once he was sure the construct was destroyed. “A Hangman golem,” Faust said. “It would take a powerful wizard to create such a thing. If the Ebon Triad is able to employ such arcanists, we may be in for more than we can handle.” Beyond the archway was a short hall with shallow alcoves on each side. As she passed by one of these, Storm reached down and picked up something that caught her eye. It was a desiccated green worm. “At least we know we’re on the right path,” the sorceress said, unnecessarily. At the end of the hall, a fifteen-foot wide pit yawned. The walls were lined with bricks and caked with mold and less-identifiable encrustations, and in the places where these growths weren’t too thick, strange figures and runes were visible carved into the bricks. Faust bent low to examine the runes, then stood with a puzzled look on his face. “Unless I miss my guess,” the psion said, “these are Avolakia runes. They are some sort of intelligent worm with the capability to assume humanoid form. I can’t decipher the writing itself.” “We’ll worry about it later,” Hawk said, “after we see what’s down shaft number two.” Drasek, Faust and Storm quickly imbued themselves and Havok with the power of flight, leaving only Grubber. The goliath refused, choosing instead to imbibe a potion which gave him the power to scale walls like a spider. As the others disappeared down the well, Grubber began the slow descent behind them. This time the shaft descended over three-hundred feet. It emptied through the ceiling of an immense chamber, its domed roof a full fifty feet over a black floor, worn smooth by the passage of countless creatures. Alcoves in the north and south walls held wretched statues of worm-like monsters coiled around pillars of skulls and bones. A single object occupied the room’s eastern half…a huge statue with three heads. One was bestial, while the other two were skull-like, one of them cowled. It had six arms, three ending in black-taloned hands, while the other three had skeletal appendages. It towered thirty feet in height, and seemed to be made of some strange stone that looked almost like leather in places, and the eyes in its bestial visage seemed wet, soft and almost alive. Hawk and Storm immediately recognized the statue as a much larger representation of the Ebon Aspect they had fought in the mines beneath Daggerford. That creature had combined features of Bane, Bhaal and Myrkul, as did this statue, only, it became readily apparent when the thing began to move, that it was not a statue at all. The thing’s speed belied its bulk, and it closed the intervening distance rapidly. With one great claw, it ripped at Faust, just managing to reach the psion’s leg and tearing a large hunk out of his calf. Then, its brow furrowed, and a glowing, black morningstar appeared out of thin air next to Havok. Luckily, the warlock had thought to create several illusory images of himself before he descended the shaft, and it was one of these that the morningstar struck, shattering it as if it were made of glass. Drasek could see that Faust was in trouble. Worse, Storm was within striking distance as well. Neither the psion nor the sorceress would last long against the behemoth, so the inquisitor made a snap decision. Diving down, he closed with the beast, intending to interpose himself between it and his less hardy allies. As he came, the Ebon Aspect struck at him, the jaws of its beast head snapping shut on one ankle. Drasek could feel the bones snap. Still, he did not hesitate, swinging his maul into the side of the brute’s face. Havok felt safe, at least for the moment. He still had several images between himself and the spiritual weapon. Taking careful aim, he let loose his most powerful manifestation of his eldritch power, the beam tearing into the Ebon Aspect’s chest, causing the huge beast to stumble back a step. Faust and Storm were not feeling so lucky. Both retreated into the relative safety of the shaft, but not before Storm attempted a trick she had learned from the worm nagas of Kuluth-Mar…a Feeblemind spell. Unfortunately, not only did the spell fail to have its desired effect, but it seemed to actually heal some of the damage done by Havok. She would not soon be trying that again. Hawk moved quickly to Drasek’s side, again trying to buy some time for the artillerists. As he drew near the creature, however, he saw an abrupt change come over it. All six of its eyes began to glow red, and foam slavered from the jaws of its central head. Many of its wounds began to knit at an alarming rate, and it roared at the ceiling, shaking loose bits of stone and dust. With blinding speed, it struck, yet it seemed to Hawk as it everything slowed to a crawl. First one claw, then another, and another tore into Drasek, each blow making great rents in the inquisitor’s armor, and in the flesh beneath. Blood flew in all directions like a geyser, and Drasek screamed, yet that cry was cut short a moment later as the Ebon Aspect’s jaws clamped around his neck, and tore out his throat. In disbelief, Hawk watched his friend fall to the floor, fifty feet below, where he lay still in an ever-growing pool of his own blood. Before the civilar could react, one of those platter-sized paws hammered into him, batting his shield aside as if it were nothing. He could see his own death coming in those crimson eyes. Havok was just as stunned as Hawk at what had just occurred, but he had his own problems. The ebony Morningstar destroyed two more of his images, and then struck him twice. The warlock knew his own limitations, and hand-to-hand combat was one of them. Still, he couldn’t just leave Hawk to die. Concentrating, he unleashed back-to-back eldritch blasts, both infused with all the power he could muster. Each one struck the Ebon Aspect, opening horrible wounds in its hide, yet it still stood. That was it. Havok knew he had to get away from the disembodied weapon, or he would be no better off than Drasek. Quickly, he soared up into the shaft, but was amazed to see Storm and Faust passing him on their way back down. The psion and the drow knew they might very well be going to their deaths, but it was a risk they were more than willing to take. Hawk and Drasek had certainly risked their own lives countless times before, and now Drasek had paid with his. Together, the psion and the sorceress attacked. Storm hurled a sizzling orb of lightning at the same time that Faust manifested a current of electricity. Both struck the Ebon Aspect unerringly, and like a mighty oak being felled, it collapsed to the floor. Drasek was dead, and by the time Grubber reached the bottom of the well, it was far too late to help the inquisitor. The League would morn their friend in time, but for the moment, they were going to see if his sacrifice was worth the price. After conducting a thorough search of the chamber, they discovered a hollow wall, behind which was a small fortune in coins, gems, and magical items. Apparently some sort of emergency fund for the Ebon Triad. Giovanni used another of his many scrolls to allow himself to read the tortuous writings of the Avolakia. They were monstrously vile prayers to Kyuss. A recurring theme in them was the mention of a ceremony known as The Ravenous Awakening, during which huge numbers of undead were animated and then led like cattle into vast banquet halls where they would present themselves to the feasters for consumption. The writings also revealed that, though the Avolakia worshipped Kyuss above all things, they seemed to believe his power was waning. The passages suggested that Kyuss was trapped in some form of large, stone monolith. They said that he had managed to partially escape his prison once, fifteen-hundred years earlier, but he was unable to maintain his freedom for longer than a few short months before the defeat of his armies by a force referred to only as the Enemy, which also forced Kyuss back into his monolithic prison. More obscure mentions in the writings included reference to a location called M’theskuss, the Writhing Tabernacle, which the Avolakias seemed to hold as the most holy site of Kyuss. Mention was also made of their great ally, and the Voice of Kyuss, the Consort of the Five-Faced One, the eternal dragon Dragotha. All of this Giovanni related to his remaining companions before they gathered Drasek’s remains and returned to the sickhouse. Back in the pantry, Grubber created a small, iron seal over the hole, preventing anyone from returning that way again. Furtopia was horror-stricken when she saw Drasek’s body. “By the Gods,” she whispered. “Do not fear,” Grubber said, “I will keep his promise to you, and tend your charges. The evil below has been cleansed. It will not trouble you again.” Concealing Drasek’s remains within their bag of holding, the group made their way once more to the Church of Blessed Deliverance, and into the crypt below. There they found Rhorsk, still busy with his clean up. They quickly explained what they had found and what had befallen Drasek. The priest of Helm nodded in understanding. “He made his wishes clear,” Grubber said in conclusion. “If he were to die, he knew that it was his time. He wanted to remain with Kelemvor. We have no way to give him the proper rites in a city such as this, and we dare not turn him over to his brethren at the Scarlet Spire.” “Leave it to me,” Rhorsk said quietly, “I will lay him to rest with all the honor that he deserves. This place has been consecrated once again. He will lie with others who have martyred themselves before him, and he will know peace.” [/QUOTE]
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JollyDoc's Age of Worms (Updated 11/30, Epilogue!)
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