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JollyDoc's Age of Worms (Updated 11/30, Epilogue!)
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<blockquote data-quote="gfunk" data-source="post: 2813766" data-attributes="member: 1813"><p>THE TRIALS OF TILAGOS</p><p></p><p>It was on their third day of travel through the darkness of the Doomshroud that the League first began to notice the silence. It had been a gradual thing, which is why the steady decrease in the normal forest sounds did not immediately come to their attention. In fact, it was not until the trees began to thin, and the gloom to lighten that the overall pattern started to register. No birds sang. No wind sighed through the boughs. Nothing scurried in the underbrush, and no insect buzzed. Silence. Until the song began…</p><p></p><p>The thinning trees finally gave way to an immense clearing, fully a half-mile or more in diameter. Nothing larger than a blade of grass grew in the great open space save for a solitary tree. It was massive thing, nearly fifty feet in height. Its black trunk was gnarled and twisted, and no leaves grew from its skeletal branches. At first glance, it appeared to be dead, but closer inspection revealed a massive, intertwined root structure surrounding it. As the group paused at the edge of the clearing, studying the monolithic tree, a mournful breeze began to rise among the trees of the forest, though not a single leaf stirred. Soon, they thought they could hear whispers in the wind, disembodied voices, which rapidly turned to cries of anguish, or wails or sorrow. Each of them turned to the others, questioning looks on their faces…all save one.</p><p></p><p>Giovanni stood rigid, staring intently at the tree at the center of the clearing. Then, without a word, he began walking stiffly out into the open, his face collapsing into a rictus of despair, tears flowing freely down his face. </p><p>“Where ya goin’ boy?” Pavel called after him, and moving as if to follow.</p><p>“Something’s wrong,” Hawk said warningly. “He’s not himself. Pavel, stop him!”</p><p>Suddenly, the enchanted armor gifted to the warlock by Malchor Harpell cried out shrilly, “Save my master! He won’t answer me! Help!”</p><p>“I’ve got’im!” Pavel shouted, sprinting after Giovanni. The burly dwarf tackled his friend from behind, wrestling him into a choke hold. Though Havok didn’t speak a word, he fought like a dervish, actually managing to break Pavel’s hold for a brief moment, before the dwarf tied him up again. By this time, the others had moved to follow, and Grubber stood in front of the warlock as he struggled to free himself. Seizing Havok’s face in both hands, the goliath forced him to make eye contact, and then he began to pray. It was a prayer which called upon Grumbar to grant strength of will to his companions and himself, and as he held Havok’s gaze, he gradually began to see clarity returning to the eyes of his friend. </p><p></p><p>“I’m ok,” Havok grunted against the pressure being placed on his throat by Pavel. “Let me go!” Pavel looked at Grubber, and the priest nodded. Slowly, the dwarf released his grip.</p><p>“What happened to you?” Hawk asked.</p><p>“I’m not sure,” the warlock said, massaging his neck, “I felt such overwhelming grief, and it seemed the only way to make it stop was to go to the tree.”</p><p>Suddenly, the grass around their feet began to writhe and twine its blades around them, trying to anchor them in place. Pavel was the only one caught flat-footed, and before he knew what was happening, he was stuck, entangled by the undergrowth. The others rapidly moved to get clear of the area of animate grass, with Havok and Hawk taking to the air via fly spells imparted upon them by magical scrolls and potions respectively. Once Grubber was clear, he turned back to the affected area and cast a dispelling field over it. As quickly as it had started, the effect ended.</p><p></p><p>Faust turned towards the great tree again, studying it intently.</p><p>“I know what it is that we are dealing with,” he said coldly.</p><p>“What?” Hawk demanded. “What is it?”</p><p>“A Night Twist,” the psion answered, “an intelligent, malevolent plant which uses its song to lure prey to their doom.”</p><p>“Does it have a weakness?” Hawk asked.</p><p>“Yes,” Faust replied, smiling grimly, “It burns.” He closed his eyes for a moment, concentrating, and as he did so, a swirling, glowing ball of energy began to form in mid-air before him. As the flaming sphere grew larger, the psion opened his eyes, and with a mental nudge, hurled it fully four-hundred yards straight at the Night Twist. As the projectile struck, the tree burst into flames, and its song became one of agony. Instantly, a globe of darkness surrounded the plant, and the group heard ripping sounds coming from within it. Then the darkness began moving towards them.</p><p></p><p>“I can do this all day,” Faust muttered to himself. “Can you take it?” With that, a second energy ball formed, and then streaked away towards the Night Twist. As it vanished into the globe of blackness, the shadow flared with the explosion, and again the Night Twist screamed. Now the black cloud began to move more rapidly. The tree was actually running towards them, desperate to reach its assailants. One last time, Faust repeated his assault, and this time the Night Twist’s song became a shrill keening that slowly died as the tree toppled, crashing to the ground with a trunk-splitting impact. The mournful song of the Doomshroud was silenced.</p><p></p><p></p><p>The League members had no idea where to begin searching for the Golden Belt of Krathanos, though Faust did recall vague tales of an ancient titan by that name. If this Krathanos was one-and-the-same, he wasn’t sure that he was in such a hurry to find the tyrant. The tasks involving the Roc King, and the Nightmare Vale both seemed to denote mountainous regions, and since the only mountains they had seen on the island lay northwest of the Doomshroud, it was decided that they would leave the forest along the path they came, and make for the mountain range thereafter.</p><p></p><p>Three more days passed before they emerged from the dark forest, and another two after that was spent crossing the barren plains to the foothills of the mountains. During this trek, they saw only wildlife, and relatively mundane ones at that, though Faust and Giovanni both noted that the colors of the flora and fauna seemed somehow brighter, the calls of animals louder, and sensations in general slightly more intense than on their home plane. Faust commented that the effect seemed indicative of a Positive energy influence, and thought it unlikely they would be encountering any undead on the journey.</p><p></p><p>They climbed higher and higher into the hills, until at last they reached a long, narrow valley which seemed to lead up towards a distant pass. The vale teemed with wild underbrush bedecked with vicious, irony thorns growing as long as six inches each. They grew to a height of ten feet, making further progress on foot all but impossible. At the far northern end of the valley, about a half-mile distant, a large cave opening could just be made out, clouds of mist or steam billowing from its mouth. There was no choice but to fly over the impenetrable mass of thorns. Giovanni, through his constant study and meditation, had recently unlocked another aspect to his dark powers: the ability to take flight at will, though he could do so no faster than he could walk. Grubber imbued Pavel, Hawk and Storm with the aspect of winged celestials, while Faust transmorphed himself into a small pebble, which Giovanni carried in his pocket. As for Grubber himself, he would not forsake his vow to Grumbar, and so the goliath began a slow climb along the walls of the vale, utilizing the spider-like ability granted him by his magic cloak.</p><p></p><p></p><p>Harrowdroth knew he had visitors. He could sense the echo of their dreams. It wasn’t the first time creatures such as these had come to his vale. It would not be the last. The great nightmare beast had been responsible for the ruination of entire kingdoms when he was free to roam the prime material plane. That was until the druids had imprisoned him here. Now, every once and again bands of humans would come to him, seeking his death. He was Harrowdroth. He had nothing to fear.</p><p></p><p></p><p>Grubber clung to the cliff wall just beyond the mouth of the cave, while his companions hovered in the air, out of direct line of sight from the opening. Havok reached into his cloak, and drew forth the stone that was Faust. The psion had informed the warlock that he could see and hear while so transformed, but he could not communicate. </p><p>“I hope you’re getting all this,” Havok said, feeling utterly ridiculous talking to a rock. Cocking his hand back, he hurled the pebble just inside the cave. “Go get’em tiger!”</p><p></p><p>‘Idiot!’ Faust thought to himself as he bounced and tumbled along the cave floor. ‘Why on earth would I want to be thrown into a cave containing the gods-know-what?’ He was not about to assume his normal form now. Peering into the cave, he could see only a strange, drifting fogbank, which seemed to fill the entire entryway. Even with his Touchsight, he could perceive nothing living beyond it. </p><p></p><p>Grubber crept over the lip of the cave mouth while Hawk and Pavel glided above him near the roof of the cavern. He too saw the fog roiling before him, but to his eyes it was all too familiar. He knew instinctively that it was a Cloudkill, the same deadly gas generated by the alkilith demon in the catacombs beneath the Waterdeep arena. Before he could do more than acknowledge this fact, however, the vapors rolled over him.</p><p></p><p>Pavel and Hawk did not take note of Grubber’s plight, so intent were they in getting past the cloud and seeing what threat might lie behind. Once past the fog, however, little more was revealed, for two great crevasses in the cavern floor belched forth veils of steam. Undeterred, Pavel soared on, feeling only a mild twinge as the boiling clouds engulfed him. He had Grubber to thank for that, as the priest’s defensive magics protected him and his companions from the intense heat. Finally, the mist parted before him, revealing the back of the massive cave…and the horror that crouched there. It was a creature straight out of a nightmare, enormous in size, with four legs like tree trunks. Its face was comprised mostly of a huge maw filled with curved fangs, and flanked by large tusks on each side. Its hide seemed to be as thick as stone. Pavel back-winged furiously, trying to break his forward momentum and turn aside. As he did so, Harrowdroth rushed forward, bellowing a cry that shook the very stones around him. Pavel began to dart back into the steam, but one of the beast’s tusks raked across his back like a branding iron. At that moment, Hawk burst from the clouds, and found himself face-to-face with the behemoth. A quick toss of Harrowdroth’s head sent the civilar tumbling back several feet before he could right himself and beat his wings fast enough to arrest his fall.</p><p></p><p>Faust heard the sounds of battle and quickly assumed his stone giant form. Hugging the cave wall, he avoided the fog cloud as it drifted past him, and then stepped into the steam. Finally, his Touchsight showed him the details of the battle beyond the clouds. Both hands went to his temples, and a writhing rope of fire sprang from his brow, disappearing into the mist and striking the nightmare beast.</p><p></p><p>Harrowdroth roared furiously. The fire burned him and muddled his thoughts. He could not concentrate to bring his own magic to bear against his opponents. Then the human and the dwarf were on him, stabbing and slashing with sword and axe. He whirled towards the human, driving one of his tusks deep into the man’s guts, and then tearing at him with his scythe-like talons. He allowed himself a brief moment of satisfaction as the frail creature flew from him into the steam, cowering and only delaying his inevitable death.</p><p></p><p>Coughing and retching, Grubber staggered out of the Cloudkill, weakened, but still hale. He found himself standing on the edge of a twenty-foot wide crack in the earth, with Faust several yards to his left. The psion had a look of intense concentration on his face, and an energy current arced from him into the steam. The goliath could not see its target. Suddenly, a winged figure burst out of the mist above him, and Hawk landed with a grunt. The civilar was literally gushing blood from a belly wound, and deep lacerations laced his arms and legs. Grubber knelt by him quickly and began a prayer of Healing. </p><p></p><p>Pavel was playing a game of cat-and-mouse. He would spring in, slash once at the beast and dart back, drawing it after him. It seemed, however, that the brute was tiring of the baiting. It also seemed to have lost interest in the dwarf. Roaring again, it ran under him, vanishing into the steam. Pavel beat his wings as fast as he could, pursuing the monster before it could reach the others. He found it straddling one of the crevasses, not five feet in front of Faust. The psion, showing more balls than brains, stood his ground, channeling fire into the ravening thing. Pavel dove for it, driving his axe into its stony flesh. At that moment, he saw Hawk step to Faust’s side. The civilar looked completely unharmed. With a cry to Helm, he raised his glowing, crackling blade and plunged it again and again deep into the monster’s chest. With one final strike, Harrowdroth roared his last, a combination of pain and disbelief at this unimaginable turn of events. So died the Thorn Vale Nightmare.</p><p></p><p></p><p>Two more grueling days were spent climbing higher and higher into the cold, thin air of the mountains, until at last they stood at the base of the highest peak in the range. Surely, they reasoned, the King of the Rocs would nest in such a place. Once again, there was no option for the ascent but flight. The cliffs were much to sheer to scale, and such a climb made with rope and pitons would be both dangerous and time consuming. With the Velsharoonian priest still unaccounted for, time was becoming more and more of a factor. Once more Grubber imbued his companions with wings, but it was decided that he would stay behind. Even with his ability to spider-climb, his ascent would be much too slow. So he stood, watching his companions disappear into the clouds which masked the top of the peak, silently praying to Grumbar to watch over them.</p><p></p><p>The Roc King was dead, and apparently had been for several days. The magnificent creature lay sprawled in its nest, in a tacky, shallow lake of its own blood. Feathers lay everywhere, but the Wild Watchers had been specific in their instructions. The required feather must come from the living bird. </p><p></p><p>“We’re too late,” Pavel muttered. “The damn priest beat us to it.”</p><p>“True,” Giovanni nodded, “but we can still complete this trial.” In answer to the dwarf’s puzzled expression, the warlock drew a scroll from beneath his robes. </p><p>“With this, I can return the creature to life.”</p><p>“Then what?” Faust scoffed. “You don’t think it’s just going to give us one of its feathers out of gratitude, do you?” </p><p>“Why not?” The warlock reasoned. “After all, when Grubber has recalled someone from death before, that person always knew who was responsible for their resurrection.”</p><p>“The key word there is person,” Faust said. “This is an animal we’re dealing with. For all it will know, we were the ones that killed it in the first place.”</p><p>“Do you have another suggestion?” Giovanni snapped, his voice rising. When Faust had no immediate response, he nodded tersely. “It’s settled then. We raise the roc, and deal with the consequences as they come. Everyone stand ready.”</p><p></p><p>As Havok began reading the scroll, Storm began a spell of her own, enabling her to communicate with animals. Hawk knelt beside the rock, his hands placed gently on its neck. When Havok’s spell was complete, and the civilar felt the great bird begin to stir, he immediately began to imbue some of his own Holy energy into it, healing some of its grievous wounds that still existed despite its resurrection.</p><p></p><p>As the roc regained full consciousness, it heaved itself to its feet, and spread its nearly two-hundred foot wings, screeching and snapping its colossal beak open and shut.</p><p>‘Have no fear,’ Storm soothed, speaking in a series of squawks and shrieks. ‘We mean you no harm. We are here to help you.’ It wasn’t working. The majestic bird was too agitated. Storm began to back slowly away, Havok right beside her. </p><p>“I told you this was a bad idea,” Faust growled, stepping forward. The roc’s eyes locked on the stone giant, and its head darted forward, preparing to strike. In an instant, a wave of psychic energy burst from the psion like a whip, sapping the great avian’s will, and causing it to collapse into a comatose heap. </p><p>“See?” Faust shrugged. “Bird’s still alive, and we can take as many feathers as we want. Pavel, if you would be so kind.” The dwarf smiled as he tugged loose a feather larger than himself, remembering the psion’s trick with B’kruss’ boar. Thus was the Living Feather of the Roc King harvested. Only one trial remained…Krathanos’ Golden Belt.</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="gfunk, post: 2813766, member: 1813"] THE TRIALS OF TILAGOS It was on their third day of travel through the darkness of the Doomshroud that the League first began to notice the silence. It had been a gradual thing, which is why the steady decrease in the normal forest sounds did not immediately come to their attention. In fact, it was not until the trees began to thin, and the gloom to lighten that the overall pattern started to register. No birds sang. No wind sighed through the boughs. Nothing scurried in the underbrush, and no insect buzzed. Silence. Until the song began… The thinning trees finally gave way to an immense clearing, fully a half-mile or more in diameter. Nothing larger than a blade of grass grew in the great open space save for a solitary tree. It was massive thing, nearly fifty feet in height. Its black trunk was gnarled and twisted, and no leaves grew from its skeletal branches. At first glance, it appeared to be dead, but closer inspection revealed a massive, intertwined root structure surrounding it. As the group paused at the edge of the clearing, studying the monolithic tree, a mournful breeze began to rise among the trees of the forest, though not a single leaf stirred. Soon, they thought they could hear whispers in the wind, disembodied voices, which rapidly turned to cries of anguish, or wails or sorrow. Each of them turned to the others, questioning looks on their faces…all save one. Giovanni stood rigid, staring intently at the tree at the center of the clearing. Then, without a word, he began walking stiffly out into the open, his face collapsing into a rictus of despair, tears flowing freely down his face. “Where ya goin’ boy?” Pavel called after him, and moving as if to follow. “Something’s wrong,” Hawk said warningly. “He’s not himself. Pavel, stop him!” Suddenly, the enchanted armor gifted to the warlock by Malchor Harpell cried out shrilly, “Save my master! He won’t answer me! Help!” “I’ve got’im!” Pavel shouted, sprinting after Giovanni. The burly dwarf tackled his friend from behind, wrestling him into a choke hold. Though Havok didn’t speak a word, he fought like a dervish, actually managing to break Pavel’s hold for a brief moment, before the dwarf tied him up again. By this time, the others had moved to follow, and Grubber stood in front of the warlock as he struggled to free himself. Seizing Havok’s face in both hands, the goliath forced him to make eye contact, and then he began to pray. It was a prayer which called upon Grumbar to grant strength of will to his companions and himself, and as he held Havok’s gaze, he gradually began to see clarity returning to the eyes of his friend. “I’m ok,” Havok grunted against the pressure being placed on his throat by Pavel. “Let me go!” Pavel looked at Grubber, and the priest nodded. Slowly, the dwarf released his grip. “What happened to you?” Hawk asked. “I’m not sure,” the warlock said, massaging his neck, “I felt such overwhelming grief, and it seemed the only way to make it stop was to go to the tree.” Suddenly, the grass around their feet began to writhe and twine its blades around them, trying to anchor them in place. Pavel was the only one caught flat-footed, and before he knew what was happening, he was stuck, entangled by the undergrowth. The others rapidly moved to get clear of the area of animate grass, with Havok and Hawk taking to the air via fly spells imparted upon them by magical scrolls and potions respectively. Once Grubber was clear, he turned back to the affected area and cast a dispelling field over it. As quickly as it had started, the effect ended. Faust turned towards the great tree again, studying it intently. “I know what it is that we are dealing with,” he said coldly. “What?” Hawk demanded. “What is it?” “A Night Twist,” the psion answered, “an intelligent, malevolent plant which uses its song to lure prey to their doom.” “Does it have a weakness?” Hawk asked. “Yes,” Faust replied, smiling grimly, “It burns.” He closed his eyes for a moment, concentrating, and as he did so, a swirling, glowing ball of energy began to form in mid-air before him. As the flaming sphere grew larger, the psion opened his eyes, and with a mental nudge, hurled it fully four-hundred yards straight at the Night Twist. As the projectile struck, the tree burst into flames, and its song became one of agony. Instantly, a globe of darkness surrounded the plant, and the group heard ripping sounds coming from within it. Then the darkness began moving towards them. “I can do this all day,” Faust muttered to himself. “Can you take it?” With that, a second energy ball formed, and then streaked away towards the Night Twist. As it vanished into the globe of blackness, the shadow flared with the explosion, and again the Night Twist screamed. Now the black cloud began to move more rapidly. The tree was actually running towards them, desperate to reach its assailants. One last time, Faust repeated his assault, and this time the Night Twist’s song became a shrill keening that slowly died as the tree toppled, crashing to the ground with a trunk-splitting impact. The mournful song of the Doomshroud was silenced. The League members had no idea where to begin searching for the Golden Belt of Krathanos, though Faust did recall vague tales of an ancient titan by that name. If this Krathanos was one-and-the-same, he wasn’t sure that he was in such a hurry to find the tyrant. The tasks involving the Roc King, and the Nightmare Vale both seemed to denote mountainous regions, and since the only mountains they had seen on the island lay northwest of the Doomshroud, it was decided that they would leave the forest along the path they came, and make for the mountain range thereafter. Three more days passed before they emerged from the dark forest, and another two after that was spent crossing the barren plains to the foothills of the mountains. During this trek, they saw only wildlife, and relatively mundane ones at that, though Faust and Giovanni both noted that the colors of the flora and fauna seemed somehow brighter, the calls of animals louder, and sensations in general slightly more intense than on their home plane. Faust commented that the effect seemed indicative of a Positive energy influence, and thought it unlikely they would be encountering any undead on the journey. They climbed higher and higher into the hills, until at last they reached a long, narrow valley which seemed to lead up towards a distant pass. The vale teemed with wild underbrush bedecked with vicious, irony thorns growing as long as six inches each. They grew to a height of ten feet, making further progress on foot all but impossible. At the far northern end of the valley, about a half-mile distant, a large cave opening could just be made out, clouds of mist or steam billowing from its mouth. There was no choice but to fly over the impenetrable mass of thorns. Giovanni, through his constant study and meditation, had recently unlocked another aspect to his dark powers: the ability to take flight at will, though he could do so no faster than he could walk. Grubber imbued Pavel, Hawk and Storm with the aspect of winged celestials, while Faust transmorphed himself into a small pebble, which Giovanni carried in his pocket. As for Grubber himself, he would not forsake his vow to Grumbar, and so the goliath began a slow climb along the walls of the vale, utilizing the spider-like ability granted him by his magic cloak. Harrowdroth knew he had visitors. He could sense the echo of their dreams. It wasn’t the first time creatures such as these had come to his vale. It would not be the last. The great nightmare beast had been responsible for the ruination of entire kingdoms when he was free to roam the prime material plane. That was until the druids had imprisoned him here. Now, every once and again bands of humans would come to him, seeking his death. He was Harrowdroth. He had nothing to fear. Grubber clung to the cliff wall just beyond the mouth of the cave, while his companions hovered in the air, out of direct line of sight from the opening. Havok reached into his cloak, and drew forth the stone that was Faust. The psion had informed the warlock that he could see and hear while so transformed, but he could not communicate. “I hope you’re getting all this,” Havok said, feeling utterly ridiculous talking to a rock. Cocking his hand back, he hurled the pebble just inside the cave. “Go get’em tiger!” ‘Idiot!’ Faust thought to himself as he bounced and tumbled along the cave floor. ‘Why on earth would I want to be thrown into a cave containing the gods-know-what?’ He was not about to assume his normal form now. Peering into the cave, he could see only a strange, drifting fogbank, which seemed to fill the entire entryway. Even with his Touchsight, he could perceive nothing living beyond it. Grubber crept over the lip of the cave mouth while Hawk and Pavel glided above him near the roof of the cavern. He too saw the fog roiling before him, but to his eyes it was all too familiar. He knew instinctively that it was a Cloudkill, the same deadly gas generated by the alkilith demon in the catacombs beneath the Waterdeep arena. Before he could do more than acknowledge this fact, however, the vapors rolled over him. Pavel and Hawk did not take note of Grubber’s plight, so intent were they in getting past the cloud and seeing what threat might lie behind. Once past the fog, however, little more was revealed, for two great crevasses in the cavern floor belched forth veils of steam. Undeterred, Pavel soared on, feeling only a mild twinge as the boiling clouds engulfed him. He had Grubber to thank for that, as the priest’s defensive magics protected him and his companions from the intense heat. Finally, the mist parted before him, revealing the back of the massive cave…and the horror that crouched there. It was a creature straight out of a nightmare, enormous in size, with four legs like tree trunks. Its face was comprised mostly of a huge maw filled with curved fangs, and flanked by large tusks on each side. Its hide seemed to be as thick as stone. Pavel back-winged furiously, trying to break his forward momentum and turn aside. As he did so, Harrowdroth rushed forward, bellowing a cry that shook the very stones around him. Pavel began to dart back into the steam, but one of the beast’s tusks raked across his back like a branding iron. At that moment, Hawk burst from the clouds, and found himself face-to-face with the behemoth. A quick toss of Harrowdroth’s head sent the civilar tumbling back several feet before he could right himself and beat his wings fast enough to arrest his fall. Faust heard the sounds of battle and quickly assumed his stone giant form. Hugging the cave wall, he avoided the fog cloud as it drifted past him, and then stepped into the steam. Finally, his Touchsight showed him the details of the battle beyond the clouds. Both hands went to his temples, and a writhing rope of fire sprang from his brow, disappearing into the mist and striking the nightmare beast. Harrowdroth roared furiously. The fire burned him and muddled his thoughts. He could not concentrate to bring his own magic to bear against his opponents. Then the human and the dwarf were on him, stabbing and slashing with sword and axe. He whirled towards the human, driving one of his tusks deep into the man’s guts, and then tearing at him with his scythe-like talons. He allowed himself a brief moment of satisfaction as the frail creature flew from him into the steam, cowering and only delaying his inevitable death. Coughing and retching, Grubber staggered out of the Cloudkill, weakened, but still hale. He found himself standing on the edge of a twenty-foot wide crack in the earth, with Faust several yards to his left. The psion had a look of intense concentration on his face, and an energy current arced from him into the steam. The goliath could not see its target. Suddenly, a winged figure burst out of the mist above him, and Hawk landed with a grunt. The civilar was literally gushing blood from a belly wound, and deep lacerations laced his arms and legs. Grubber knelt by him quickly and began a prayer of Healing. Pavel was playing a game of cat-and-mouse. He would spring in, slash once at the beast and dart back, drawing it after him. It seemed, however, that the brute was tiring of the baiting. It also seemed to have lost interest in the dwarf. Roaring again, it ran under him, vanishing into the steam. Pavel beat his wings as fast as he could, pursuing the monster before it could reach the others. He found it straddling one of the crevasses, not five feet in front of Faust. The psion, showing more balls than brains, stood his ground, channeling fire into the ravening thing. Pavel dove for it, driving his axe into its stony flesh. At that moment, he saw Hawk step to Faust’s side. The civilar looked completely unharmed. With a cry to Helm, he raised his glowing, crackling blade and plunged it again and again deep into the monster’s chest. With one final strike, Harrowdroth roared his last, a combination of pain and disbelief at this unimaginable turn of events. So died the Thorn Vale Nightmare. Two more grueling days were spent climbing higher and higher into the cold, thin air of the mountains, until at last they stood at the base of the highest peak in the range. Surely, they reasoned, the King of the Rocs would nest in such a place. Once again, there was no option for the ascent but flight. The cliffs were much to sheer to scale, and such a climb made with rope and pitons would be both dangerous and time consuming. With the Velsharoonian priest still unaccounted for, time was becoming more and more of a factor. Once more Grubber imbued his companions with wings, but it was decided that he would stay behind. Even with his ability to spider-climb, his ascent would be much too slow. So he stood, watching his companions disappear into the clouds which masked the top of the peak, silently praying to Grumbar to watch over them. The Roc King was dead, and apparently had been for several days. The magnificent creature lay sprawled in its nest, in a tacky, shallow lake of its own blood. Feathers lay everywhere, but the Wild Watchers had been specific in their instructions. The required feather must come from the living bird. “We’re too late,” Pavel muttered. “The damn priest beat us to it.” “True,” Giovanni nodded, “but we can still complete this trial.” In answer to the dwarf’s puzzled expression, the warlock drew a scroll from beneath his robes. “With this, I can return the creature to life.” “Then what?” Faust scoffed. “You don’t think it’s just going to give us one of its feathers out of gratitude, do you?” “Why not?” The warlock reasoned. “After all, when Grubber has recalled someone from death before, that person always knew who was responsible for their resurrection.” “The key word there is person,” Faust said. “This is an animal we’re dealing with. For all it will know, we were the ones that killed it in the first place.” “Do you have another suggestion?” Giovanni snapped, his voice rising. When Faust had no immediate response, he nodded tersely. “It’s settled then. We raise the roc, and deal with the consequences as they come. Everyone stand ready.” As Havok began reading the scroll, Storm began a spell of her own, enabling her to communicate with animals. Hawk knelt beside the rock, his hands placed gently on its neck. When Havok’s spell was complete, and the civilar felt the great bird begin to stir, he immediately began to imbue some of his own Holy energy into it, healing some of its grievous wounds that still existed despite its resurrection. As the roc regained full consciousness, it heaved itself to its feet, and spread its nearly two-hundred foot wings, screeching and snapping its colossal beak open and shut. ‘Have no fear,’ Storm soothed, speaking in a series of squawks and shrieks. ‘We mean you no harm. We are here to help you.’ It wasn’t working. The majestic bird was too agitated. Storm began to back slowly away, Havok right beside her. “I told you this was a bad idea,” Faust growled, stepping forward. The roc’s eyes locked on the stone giant, and its head darted forward, preparing to strike. In an instant, a wave of psychic energy burst from the psion like a whip, sapping the great avian’s will, and causing it to collapse into a comatose heap. “See?” Faust shrugged. “Bird’s still alive, and we can take as many feathers as we want. Pavel, if you would be so kind.” The dwarf smiled as he tugged loose a feather larger than himself, remembering the psion’s trick with B’kruss’ boar. Thus was the Living Feather of the Roc King harvested. Only one trial remained…Krathanos’ Golden Belt. [/QUOTE]
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JollyDoc's Age of Worms (Updated 11/30, Epilogue!)
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