JollyDoc's Curse of the Crimson Throne: Updated 1/29/10

[JollyDoc]

THE RESTLESS DEAD

A high bridge crossed the vast expanse of black water between the barbican gate and the entrance to Castle Scarwall. The bridge was ornate and in excellent condition, with only a few tenacious patches of moss and lichen clinging to it here and there. High arching columns reached from the water below to support the broad span, each of which was marked by a pair of sinister gargoyles that stared out over the dark lake. A larger pair of statues flanked a great archway that encompassed the near end of the bridge.

The company started across the causeway, but as soon as Katarina stepped onto it, a strong wind began whipping along the bridge where before the air had been calm and still. Within moments, the wind had grown into a gale. As the companions shielded their eyes from the blowing grit, they began to see vague shapes materializing around them…faces and humanoid forms. Suddenly, a scream came from Kat, but when the others turned towards her, they saw that it was not the beguiler screaming, but Zellara. The spirit of the Varisian woman had manifested, and the figures in the wind were assaulting her from all sides. She fought to hold them at bay, but it was obvious that she would be overwhelmed quickly. Kat scrambled to fish the harrow deck out of her pouch and focused all of her will on it, trying to call Zellara’s soul back to it. It was no use. Zellara screamed again as the shrieking souls tore her away and vanished into the wall of the castle. The wind died just as suddenly as it had begun, and silence reigned once more.

As the group struggled to regain their composure and unravel what had just transpired, a loud squealing ripped the air. The portcullis guarding the castle entrance on the far end of the causeway was grinding slowly open. From the darkness of the tunnel beyond emerged a grotesque spectacle. Some two dozen skeletal soldiers clad in plate armor and armed with longswords marched onto the bridge in rigid formation. In their midst rode a lone horseman. He was clad in plate mail as well, and he bore a lance at least twelve feet in length. His mount was horrifying…the bony remnants of horse with shreds of flesh still clinging to it in places. Shining silver barding covered it, and red eyes gleamed from within their dark sockets. When it snorted, smoke and fire erupted from its nostrils. The rider lifted his visor, and a grinning skull peered out. He nodded once, then dipped the lance and urged his mount forward. As he did so, the foot soldiers parted before him.

“Stand back ladies and gentlemen,” O’Reginald smirked as he shook out his sleeves. “I got this!”
The sorcerer went through a flashy show of casting his spell, but when he finally released it, the result was accordingly spectacular. A huge ball of fire erupted in the middle of the span, engulfing the entire horde. When the flames cleared, all that remained of the foot soldiers were piles of charred bones with only four individuals still on their feet. As for the knight, he and his mount appeared unscathed, and he seemed unconcerned with the fate of his troops. Instead, he spurred his steed into a full gallop, lowering his lance and visor as he came. Ratbone quickly shoved O’Reginald behind him and stepped to the fore of the group. He braced himself, confident that his feral form and size could withstand the brunt of any blow. When it came, however, the druid discovered he’d grossly underestimated his foe. The point of the lance completely impaled him, going through his chest and exploding out his back. Had it not been for the fact that his shapeshifting ability allowed him to literally move the position of his vital organs, he would likely have been mortally wounded by the assault. Despite that, the pain was overwhelming and he crumpled to one knee, clutching at the weapon buried inside him. He waited for the coup de grace to come, but to his utter amazement, Asyra stepped to his side, her chains spinning and snapping. She flung them towards the rider’s bony mount, the spikes ripping into the beast, causing it to rear back and away from Ratbone. That was the chance he needed. Suppressing his agony, he surged to his feet and launched himself at the skeletal knight. The rider released the lance and grabbed for his sword, but he was a fraction of a second too slow. The druid tore into him like a force of nature, literally ripping him to pieces. A moment later, a volley of flashing arrows left Raelak’s bow and impaled the nightmare, driving it over the edge of the bridge. By the time the four foot soldiers had closed the remaining distance, Laori and Asyra were ready for them, and the two chain fighters made quick work of the undead fodder.

Michael was at Ratbone’s side as the battle ended. The druid ripped the lance from his body, and as the blood began to flow, the priest pressed his hands over the wound, pouring energy into it. Within seconds, the worst of the injury had mended, and Ratbone was able to stay on his feet.
“Zellara’s not gone,” Kat announced abruptly. She held the harrow deck in her hands, and gazed at the walls of the castle. “I can sense it. She’s in there…somewhere. We have to find her and free her.”
“Then I suggest we don’t tarry here in the open any longer,” Sial said. “We’ve made targets of our ourselves quite enough for one day.”

The others couldn’t argue, and they started across the causeway again, moving more quickly. The front gates of the keep loomed at the end of the bridge, flanked by twin statues of warriors standing at attention. Pale flames rose from the tips of their spears thirty feet above. Torches were set into the entryway tunnel that lead to the main gates themselves, providing illumination. The massive gates were closed, and a lowered iron portcullis further barred unauthorized entrance. As the company closed within sight of the tunnel, however, a barrage of crossbow bolts suddenly erupted from arrow slits above the gates. One of the projectiles pierced Laori in the gut, causing her to double over and stumble to the stones. Two more struck Asyra, but the kyton’s otherworldly physiology allowed the bolts to bounce harmless off of her iron-hard skin.
“Run!” Sial commanded his bodyguard, and the priest began following his own advice, racing towards the tunnel, Asyra hot on his heels.
“Idiots,” O’Reginald scoffed. “There are quicker ways to get there. Gather round me!”
He linked hands with the others, but when he concentrated and willed them across the intervening distance…nothing happened.
“No!” he cursed. “There’s some sort of dimensional lock in effect! I can’t teleport!”
“Then I guess you’d better use what the god’s gave you, hadn’t you?” Raelak asked, slapping the sorcerer on the shoulder as he began running. The others followed, Ratbone dragging Laori in his wake, all of them moving in a serpentine pattern, desperately trying to avoid the deadly rain of missiles.

When the group reached the safety of the tunnel, there was still the matter of the portcullis that stood between them and the main gates. Ratbone gripped the bars and began to lift, the massive iron frame rising achingly slow.
“Watch out!” Kat shouted, but her warning came too late as murder holes opened in the tunnel roof above them and black, viscous oil began pouring in. The oil, however, was not boiling, but was instead bone-numbingly cold. The companions clung to the sides of the passage, trying in vain to avoid the deluge. Finally, Ratbone lifted the gate high enough for them to duck through, and then he followed behind, the portcullis slamming down behind him. Herc already had the gates opened, and the group hurried inside the main keep.
_________________________________________________

The scene within the large chamber beyond the doors was stomach-turning. Bodies lay everywhere, orc and human alike. Judging by the sprawled nature of the corpses, they fought brutally before succumbing to their wounds, dying in heaps on the floor. Many corpses were riddled with arrows and crossbow bolts, and a few appeared to have perished while locked in mortal combat, and still clutched at weapons embedded in various parts of each other’s anatomy. A particularly large mound of bodies lay in the northwest corner, a heap of carcasses in a tangle of limbs. Strangely, while the room reeked of death, the bloodstains on the walls and floor seemed incredibly ancient.

Before the companions could do much more than take note of their surroundings, a deep, gurgling voice came from within the mound of corpses.
“Ah, my wayward children,” it said. “You’ve come home to me! Come! Come and let me embrace you!”
Then, to the horror of the onlookers, the entire pile began scuttling forward on dozens of arms and legs.
“What in Desna’s name?” Raelak exclaimed, quickly loosing a shining arrow at the orgy of corpses. Ratbone lunged forward, slashing at the pile with his claws, golden ice forming over the limbs of the bodies in the wake of his assault. At that moment, all of the mouths of the corpses opened at once and emitted a piercing shriek that filled the room. The companions found themselves involuntarily screaming in response, their hands going to their ears as blood poured from ruptured tympanic membranes. Kat began shouting the words of a spell over the cacophony, and loosed a rippling lance of sonic energy into the morass. A moment later, a hail of stones pelted the horror as O’Reginald loosed his own spell, and finally, another volley of force arrows from Raelak’s bow caused the entire pile to collapse.
“I think I’m going to hate this place,” O’Reginald said grimly.
____________________________________________________

The only exit from the chamber of horrors seemed to be barred from the far side. Ratbone and Herc brought both of their full strength to bear against it, however, and the large portals burst inward. Beyond was a ruined hallway. Tattered bits of ruined tapestries lined the walls…wispy filaments of rotting cloth that hung limp and forgotten. Ancient bones from scattered skeletons lay on the floor amid bits of broken weaponry and armor. Only one skeleton seemed to remain whole, slumped against the northeastern corner, clad in dust-caked full plate armor. It was Kat and Ratbone who heard it first…the distant sounds of battle. Seconds later, the silence of the ancient, dead castle suddenly shattered. The hall was filled with a cacophony of clashing weapons and battle cries intermingled with the screams of the dead and dying. Individual words were impossible to discern, but as the sounds reached a crescendo of violence, smoky black shapes boiled up out of the bones and swirled into a vortex of angry, shrieking spirits. Kat grabbed her head as the wailing voices of the spirits dug into her mind like daggers. She moaned and collapsed to the floor twitching, her eyes rolled into her head. Sial sneered at her weakness…until Asyra collapsed next to her.

As quickly as it began, the maddening vortex collapsed, but in its place, a towering, smoky form rose from the plate-mail-clad bones. It appeared to be a large, shadowy form clad in armor made from tendrils of dark mist. Two red eyes glowed deep inside its helm. The apparition pointed one dark finger at Herc.
“You shall not have Serithtial,” it said. “She is mine and no other’s!”
The creature then surged forward.

“Help me move her!” Michael cried out to Sial as he knelt by Katarina.
“I think not,” the priest said, “but I shall not impede your efforts.”
“Do not strain yourself,” Laori snapped at her colleague. She raised her hands above her head and a blanket of darkness formed around her, obscuring Kat and Asyra, providing them some measure of concealment from the oncoming shade. Then, Raelak was there, stepping in front of his allies, and drawing the string of his bow to his jaw. In rapid succession, he loosed four golden arrows. The wraith howled as the pure light discorporated its ethereal form.

Michael laid a hand on the chest of Kat and Asyra and began his prayer, heedless of the fact that he was using his holy power to heal a fiend. Within a few moments, both of them opened their eyes and sat up, blinking dazedly. Asyra regained her composure first and reached her feet without a word, as if nothing untoward had happened. Kat took Michael’s offered hand and climbed unsteadily to her feet.
“Thank you, my friend,” she said quietly.
“Look at this!” Herc called from where he knelt beside the armored bones.
The others quickly gathered round and saw that the armor, though ancient, was in exquisite condition and bore elaborate heraldry engraved upon the breastplate.
“It’s the coat of arms of Lastwall,” Michael said wonderingly. “I…I think these may be the remains of Mandraivus!”
__________________________________________________

Several minutes later, as the company prepared to move on, Herc was clad in the armor of Mandraivus. The mercenary felt somehow…drawn to the mail. None of his companions argued when he donned it. After all, the spectre of Mandraivus had spoken to him only.

They next found themselves in the kitchens. Rickety tables, butcher’s blocks, and collapsed shelves cluttered the room. The walls and ceiling were covered in soot, particularly to the west where three huge ovens loomed. Each was completely covered in a layer of char and soot, inside and out, with bits of charred bone and charcoal caked on the iron grills and in the ash pits beneath. Worse, however, were the two outlines burned into the brick of the oven walls…humanoid images splayed in positions of agony and death. Despite the ancient look of the layers of grime, the ovens radiated slight warmth and the faint odor of burning meat, as if they had been used recently. As the group moved closer to investigate, faint tendrils of smoke began to rise from each of the huge ovens. Moments later, a sudden blast of fire welled up inside the ovens, then plumed out into a sheet of flame that filled the entire room. As it burned, shrieking spirits made of fire tore through the chamber, swimming through the bodies Laori and Asyra, and appearing to tear away bits of flesh as they did so. Laori screamed in a combination of agony and ecstasy, while Asyra merely looked bemused. The flames died as suddenly as they had appeared, but then something far more disturbing occurred. The scorched outlines on the wall began to peel away, and then abruptly ignited into swirling, humanoid clouds of burning ash, bone and charred body parts that glowed fiery red from within and reeked of scorched flesh. They roared like a wind-stoked fire as they rushed forward. Asyra stood her ground, her chains gripped tightly in both hands. As the first of the ghouls drew near, she lashed out with blinding speed, her weapons tearing through the beast’s form as if it was rice paper. It evaporated in a puff of brimstone-tainted smoke. Ratbone seized the second one in midair as it leaped, and literally tore the thing in half. For a few moments, silence returned to Scarwall. Then Sial cleared his throat.
“Thrice now Asyra’s life has been endangered protecting you people,” the priest snapped. “No more! We are here for a specific purpose, and that purpose is not to get killed in your defense.”
Ratbone began growling low in his throat.
“Who asked you to?” O’Reginald sneered. “In fact, who asked you to be here at all?”
“Sial,” Laori interrupted, “you forget yourself. We are guests here. Do not forget the greater goal. Need I remind you of our imperative?”
Sial glared at her, but said nothing, his lips as thin as paper. Instead he simply nodded once, sharply.
“I’ll take point with Herc,” Laori said, moving towards the doors.
_________________________________________________

The kitchen gave on to what seemed to be a long, wide porter’s hall. Numerous arrow slits along the far wall looked out over the castle courtyard, and a pair of doors looked as if they opened onto it. The burnt stubs of torches hung in iron brackets between the arrow slits, and small puddles of rain had formed beneath them, staining the stone. Opposite those, metal rings had been driven into the stone wall; some had short lengths of chain attached to them. Six large figures stood along the hall, facing the arrow slits. When they turned towards the sound of the opening door, the half-light from the slits threw their features into grotesque relief. They were skeletons, but not human. They were massive, and had the heads of bulls. The gripped great crossbows in their bony hands, and as their hollow eyes sockets fixed on the intruders, they raised the cocked weapons.

Raelak was quicker on the draw. He put four arrows in flight before the nearest minotaur could pull the trigger. The brute crumpled into a pile of inanimate bones. Ratbone pounced on a second one and quickly disassembled it as well. When he turned on a third, however, it had dropped its crossbow and drawn a massive axe. It swung broadly and slashed the druid across his belly. Ratbone snarled deeply, ignoring the wound as he tore the axe from the minotaur, along with its arm. Meanwhile, Michael stepped forward, his holy amulet gripped in his hand. Before he could bring its holy light to bear, however, one of the creatures slashed him viciously with its axe. The amulet slipped from his fingers, and he bent quickly to retrieve it. The minotaur moved in for the kill, but then exploded into a thousand pieces as several of Raelak’s arrows ripped through it. Michael grabbed his amulet and thrust it towards another of the beasts. Light exploded from the holy symbol and immolated the monster in a great column of white fire. The last of the minotaur’s joined its brethren in a final hail of Raelak’s brilliant arrows.

 

[JollyDoc]

THE FIRST ANCHOR

Beyond the porters’ hall, a wide courtyard stood at the heart of Castle Scarwall, giving an inside view of the castle’s looming walls and towers. A chill breeze whipped through the yard, carrying a few dry leaves from scraggly scrub bushes that grew fitfully at its edges. A wide, stone-rimmed well stood at the western end, though the stone lip was crumbling and had collapsed in places. To the north, stairs rose to a platform fifteen feet above the courtyard. Atop it, a black double door provided entry into the castle donjon. Double doors to the east stood open, creaking on their hinges, as if left open by someone leaving in a hurry. Bent, rusted, and in some cases partially broken spikes protruded from the walls of the courtyard, and in places, holes in the hard-packed soil hinted at long-missing structures or poles that once stood within.

Cautiously, the companions began making their way across the yard and towards the ancient fountain. It was only a faint scent on the breeze, the smell of attar, which warned Ratbone an instant before the attack came. Large, dark shapes swooped out of the sky from the surrounding rooftops, like living gargoyles, but with four arms and heavily muscled. One of them struck Asyra from behind like a battering ram. When her spine snapped, the sound was like a lightning crack in the still air. As she collapsed, more of the brutes landed among the group, one of them latching onto Ratbone with all four arms and then burying its curved horns in his shoulder, while another battered Michael to the ground next to the still form of Asyra. Ratbone flexed, breaking the gargoyle’s grip, then proceeded to rend the creature limb from limb. Katarina spun as another brute came towards her, flinging her arms out and shouting the words to a spell. The monster froze in its tracks, paralyzed. Raelak stepped casually behind it and fired an arrow into the back of its skull. Meanwhile, Herc and Laori stood shoulder-to-shoulder, sword and chain flashing with deadly precision as another gargoyle fell. Michael lay where he fell, unnoticed in the melee. He rolled towards Asyra and passed his hands over her ruined back, channeling healing energy into the horrible wound. When a shadow moved over him, he turned, expecting to die. Instead, he saw Laori extending her hand towards him. When he took it, he felt power flow out of her and into him, healing his own wounds.

Two of the gargoyles still menaced the group, so it was several moments before anyone noticed the gathering cloud of darkness emerging from the partially open double doors on the far end of the courtyard. When they finally did, the battle came to a complete standstill, with even the gargoyles starring open-mouthed at the miasma. Suddenly, a blast of blackness emerged from the cloud, washing over friend and foe alike in a dark cone. When it dissipated a moment later, one of the gargoyles lay dead on the ground, and next to it Michael lay as well, stricken, barely breathing, his eyes wide and staring. The others stood pale and shaking, a numbing, bone-chilling coldness penetrating all the way to their bones. Ratbone shook off the effects first, snarling and snapping the last gargoyle’s neck while it was still stunned. The others began moving as well. Laori knelt quickly by Michael’s side, working furiously to stabilize the priest. Sial and Asyra, on the other hand, retreated quickly back inside the porter’s hall, closing one of the massive doors behind them. Katarina knew that the darkness was of magical origin, so she wove a wave of dispelling magic through it, causing it to vanish in puff of black smoke. She immediately wished she hadn’t.

Fierce, crimson eyes gleamed from scales the shade of midnight. A terrible, skeletally gaunt draconic visage leered at the end of a powerful, serpentine neck. Its body was black and lithe, so dark that the sheen of its onyx scales made it appear almost indistinct; angular, backward-swept horns, wings that arced like gothic steeples, tight skin, and a thin, whip-like tail accentuated the hissing dragon’s sinister ferocity, giving it the appearance of a starved serpent ready to strike. It hovered in the air some thirty feet above the courtyard, its wings whipping up dirt and grit as they beat downward rhythmically. As the companions stared in horror, the dragon hurled a volley of black light towards Raelak, the bolts striking the Shoanti unerringly. Raelak jolted back several steps, but then almost instinctively, he brought up his bow and let fly with his own barrage. The arrows stuck in the dragon’s scales, flaming against the black hide like burning brands.

Herc and Ratbone moved as one, the mercenary quickly downing a potion from his belt, and then lifting into the air, while the druid shifted into his avian form and followed. As they closed with the dragon, however, it struck out, slashing at Herc with one huge forepaw, while snapping at Ratbone with its powerful jaws. What followed was sheer brutal savagery. Ratbone and Herc circled the wyrm, feinting and striking lightning-quick, while the dragon whirled in the air, like a great cornered cat, ripping with its claws, gnashing and crushing bones with its teeth, buffeting and slapping with its wings and tail. Moments stretched out like hours, and then, for a moment, the combatants paused as if by mutual agreement, all panting and struggling to catch their breath.
“I…yield…,” the dragon hissed at length. “I, Belshallam, give you my word that if you spare my life, warriors, I will tell you of things that you will want to hear. What say you?”
Before either of them could answer, however, a streaking arrow flew past them and buried itself between the dragon’s eyes. The beast looked pole-axed as it tumbled heavily to the courtyard below. As Belshallam died, a soul-chilling moan rose from the depths of Scarwall, and a loud, metallic snap, as if an enormous chain had just given way, echoed through the still air.
“Thanks for all your help,” Ratbone snapped at Sial as the druid landed, and returned to his normal form. “We’ll remember that next time.”
_______________________________________________________

The spacious west wing of the castle seemed largely given over to guest rooms as well as torture chambers, a statement of the predilections of Kazavon’s reign. Most of these areas were abandoned and looked to have been so for some time. It was only once they had reached the far end, an open antechamber, that they saw signs of habitation. In fact, they thought they even detected the faint strains of orchestral music coming from beyond a set of large, ornate double doors. A vast, grand ballroom lay beyond the doors, constructed in a floral shape with a high, vaulted roof of intricately wrought glass panes that bore a slight rose tint, but nevertheless provided a breathtaking view of the sky above. Clover-shaped pillars supported key portions of the roof above the polished floor of stained cherry, and a wide dais provided room for an orchestra to play or stage performance to occur. A few broken chairs had been pushed into the corners, but otherwise the room was empty.

No sooner had the companions entered the ballroom than the music rose to a crescendo. Dozens of ghostly figures appeared in the middle of the floor, swirling and cavorting, floating through the air as the followed the steps of an ancient, rhythmic dance, seemingly keeping in time with the ebb and flow of life itself. Amid the eerie crowd of dancing specters loomed a dark, cloaked figure wielding a scythe, and ominous wraith with the dreaded countenance of Death itself. The group stared in combined awe and horror at the spectacle…until they saw that Asyra and Raelak had joined the dance!
“Oh no…!” Sial whispered, terror in his voice.
“What?” Kat snapped. “What is it? What’s happening?”
“We cannot win this,” the priest said. “It is the Danse Macabre…the dance of Death itself! We should flee!”
“Flee?” Kat asked, incredulous. “We’re not leaving Raelak. And what of your minion?”
“She is lost!” Sial shouted. “As are you all if you remain here!”
He began backing quickly towards the doors. At the same time, the robed apparition moved forward. Almost quicker than the eye could follow, the scythe flickered, and in the next instant Herc howled as his ear was cleanly lopped off.
“I do not accept this inevitability!” Michael roared.
He held out his symbol of office, and light flared from it like a small star. For an instant, the Danse recoiled, and in that moment, holy power pulsed over Raelak, and the ranger’s mind was freed. He blinked and shook his head, then, as the specter loomed over him once more, he raised his bow. Force arrows hammered into the fiend’s incorporeal body, nailing it to the air as the power of Zellara’s blessing pulsed through the missiles. The Danse began to burn, the dancers shrieking as their master died. In moments, it was over. Silence rained again as Asyra collapsed to the floor.

 

[Neverwinter Knight]

Wow, back from holiday without internet and three amazing JollyDoc updates greet me at the PC.

I see the group has put the blessings of the ancestors into good use. Raelak has chosen the offensive boost - what about the others? I could imagine that most have followed Raelak with maybe only Kat and O’Reginald chosing the defensive bonus.

 

[JollyDoc]

Wow, back from holiday without internet and three amazing JollyDoc updates greet me at the PC.

I see the group has put the blessings of the ancestors into good use. Raelak has chosen the offensive boost - what about the others? I could imagine that most have followed Raelak with maybe only Kat and O’Reginald chosing the defensive bonus.

That's about right. Most of the heavy hitters took the bane feature, while the support staff took the ghost touch defense.

 

[JollyDoc]

THE KINDNESS OF STRANGERS

Scarwall was proving to be a frustrating, potentially deadly, unsolvable mystery. Some new undead horror threatened the companions at every turn, yet they were no closer to finding Serithtial’s resting place. The castle was massive, and could take days, or weeks to search completely, assuming of course they survived that long. Something had to give.

The group backtracked their trail through the guest wing to the courtyard and the porter’s hall. There, they chose another door they had bypassed on their first trip through. The walls of the dismal room beyond were hung with innumerable bags of netting that held bottles, clay jars, dried plants, desiccated bits of animals and similar things. Tattered, gauzy curtains had been strung throughout, creating a diaphanous kind of maze. The whole was choked with a dank-smelling smoke that seemed to be issuing forth from a pitted iron brazier in the center of the chamber. Incredibly, also suspended within the netting was a halfling woman.
“Help me!” she shouted. “The witch will be back soon!”
“Who are you?” Kat asked suspiciously. “How did you get here?”
“I’m Alimae,” the halfling replied. “I’m an herbalist. I was gathering herbs in the woods near my home when I was snatched by a horrible dragon! It carried me halfway across the world to this nightmare castle, and then handed me over to the witch! She’s been gone for several hours now, but if you hurry and get me loose, I can lead you upstairs to her home. If you’re quick, you can break her crystal ball and weaken her!”
“Hmmm…,” Kat said as she pursed her lips. “Perhaps.”
The beguiler then spoke a spell, and her eyes flashed golden, allowing her sight to pierce illusions and glamers. When she looked up at the halfling, she saw instead a monstrous hag, black-skinned, with curling horns and wickedly sharp teeth and claws.
“Would you care to tell us the truth now?” Kat asked.
The hag cackled as she used one of her long nails to slice her way free of the nets, and dropped heavily to the floor, assuming her true form as she landed.
“My compliments on your astute perception,” she laughed. “How would such clever little people such as yourselves like to help me with a little project?”
Kat’s eyes narrowed and she glanced at her companions.
“Why don’t you start with telling us who and what you really are, and why we shouldn’t just kill you now?”
“I’m Malatrothe,” the hag said, her face growing serious. “I assume that you are here to defeat one, some, or all of the commanders in Scarwall. All I want is to be there when you best one of them.”
“We’re still listening,” Kat said, “…for now.”
“There is a spirit…a force that powers Scarwall,” Malatrothe began. “His name is Mithrodar, and he is a chained spirit. His power derives from four spirit anchors…powerful beings, some living, some not, that he has bound to his will. As long as these anchors exist, he cannot be destroyed. Hundreds, if not thousands of spirits are trapped within Scarwall’s walls because of Mithrodar’s power.”
“Zellara…,” Kat whispered.
Malatrothe continued as if she’d not heard. “Three of Mithrodar’s anchors I know: the dragon Belshallam, which I gather you have already slain; Scarwall’s former military commander, Castothrane; and Nihil, a fiendish woman who dwells in the towers above. I’m not sure about the fourth, but I think it resides within the chapel, inside the donjon.”
“So why do you want to see these anchors destroyed?” Kat asked suspiciously. “What do you get out of it?”
“Power,” Malatrothe shrugged. “Souls carry much value in certain circles. My motives, admittedly, are selfish, but I’m the only one who can show you where to find at least two of the spirit anchors. What say you?”
“I say to the Hells with you!” Raelak snarled.
“Now, now,” Sial said silkily. “We shouldn’t be so hasty. After all, we are here to retrieve the sword. If weakening this chained spirit helps us to accomplish this, what does it matter how that is achieved?”

The debate continued for several minutes, with the company split over whether or not to trust the night hag. In the end, there really was no choice. They had no other leads on finding Scarwall’s secrets.
“We will follow you,” Kat said as she turned back to Malatrothe, “but if you seek to trap or betray us, you will think the Hells are Paradise by the time we’re done with you.”
_____________________________________________________________

Malatrothe lead them upstairs to the keep’s second level. As they passed down a long hallway, she paused at a set of intricately carved doors.
“Mithrodar lies within,” she said quietly. “I warn you to avoid this place until you have destroyed all of the spirit anchors.”
The passage ended further on at a single door.
“The way to Castothrane is beyond,” the hag nodded. “I do not know if he has placed guards or wards about him.”
“What do you know of this person?” Sial asked with interest.
“He is no ‘person,’” Malatrothe chortled. “He was already undead before Scarwall fell to Mandraivus. He was captain of Kazavon’s guards. I know that he was destroyed when Scarwall fell, but when the castle’s restless spirits reclaimed the keep, Castothrane was restored. It was sometime after that he was bound by Mithrodar. He is a wily one. You should have a care.”

Herc pushed open the door, revealing an oddly shaped chamber that apparently occupied most of the second floor of the gatehouse. A large set of winches seemed to govern the gates and portcullises in the gateway below. Troughs ran along the sides of the winches, just above a set of murder holes in the floor to the east and west of the gears. Arrow slits pierced the outer walls in several places, completing the room’s defensive posts. A half-dozen skeletal minotaurs stood about the room, and the companions beheld the source of the attack they had endured as they had fled along the causeway. The undead brutes raised their crossbows as the door opened, but Herc was across the floor before they could fully shoulder their weapons. The big warrior leaped into the air and came down swinging his shield and slashing with his blade. Within seconds, he had smashed one of the guards to bone shards. As he turned towards the others, they fired their crossbows. Most of the bolts went wide, but one struck Michael like a hammer-blow, and another spun Raelak as he drew his own bow. That was the only volley the minotaurs got. O’Reginald conjured a hail of heavy stones in the midst of the room, pummeling the creatures beneath the deluge. Simultaneously, Malatrothe hurled a barrage of magic missiles into the monsters, drawing a look of disbelief from Katarina. By that time, Raelak had recovered, and he began to loose arrows in a steady volley, until the last of the creatures collapsed into a bony heap.

Malatrothe stepped around the bones and pointed to a trapdoor in the ceiling of the guardhouse.
“Through there,” she said. “Castothrane is above.”
Herc took the lead, climbing up the ladder and carefully raising the trap door. He found himself looking out over a wide parapet. On one side was a peaked roof with an archway leading to the chamber inside. The mercenary climbed all the way out, then reached his hand down to help his companions up. At that point, Raelak took the lead, his bow at the ready. Beyond the arch was a long chamber with inward-slanting walls, much like an attic. Many old barrels and boxes, broken and empty, were stacked at the base of the walls. Stairs descended to the north, near two small alcoves with conical roofs. Striding down the center of the room was an armored warrior. He gripped a massive battle axe in one gloved hand. Where his head should have been, however, there was instead only a grinning skull, wreathed in a halo of flickering flames. Raelak drew back his bowstring, but then his eyes caught a flicker of movement from behind the barrels. Shadowy forms moved there, and as he watched, several detached themselves from the general gloom.
“’Ware the walls!” the ranger shouted to his companions. No sooner had he spoken, than the vaguely humanoid-shaped shadows began stepping through wall, passing through it as if it did not exist. At the same moment, Castothrane stepped through the archway. Silently, he raised his axe and brought it brutally down on Raelak’s arm. The Shoanti pivoted at the last minute, and the blade merely sliced into his flesh instead of completely through it.

The shadows moved among the allies, reaching out with incorporeal arms to touch, draining the very life force from their victims. Michael raised his hands to the sky and began to pray. The clouds above suddenly released a deluge of rain, but when the water struck the undead, they wailed in agony as they were burned by its holy power. Katarina took advantage of the moment to begin her own spell, conjuring a large, insubstantial fist out of thin air. The hand seized one of the shadows, holding it fast. Then, Laori rushed forward, her chain whirling around her head, and she proceeded to rip the ghostly creature to shreds. Herc moved in as well, smashing and slashing at the shadows, regardless of the fact that half of his attacks passed harmlessly through them. That was not true for Malatrothe’s arcane bolts. They crashed into the undead relentlessly, felling one after another in rapid succession.

Raelak reeled from Castothrane’s blow, but he quickly managed to put some distance between himself and the skeletal warrior. Castothrane charged, but the ranger was faster, loosing arrow after gleaming arrow from his bow. They tore into Castothrane like ballista bolts, and though Kazavon’s former minion did not falter in his resolve, his corporeal body could not withstand the assault. Ultimately, he fell, and as he did so, Malatrothe was there. The hag knelt beside him, uncapping a bottle she had pulled from her cloak. The wispy form of Castothrane’s soul could be seen being drawn into the flask. Malatrothe quickly recapped her treasure and rose, giggling. Then, somewhere in the distance, the sound of a chain snapping could be heard, followed by a soul-chilling bellow from deep within the keep.
“Mithrodar is not pleased,” Malatrothe laughed. “Too bad for you!”
With that, she spun in a circle of darkness and vanished.

 

[JollyDoc]

NIHILISM

“I knew it!” Kat snapped at Malatrothe’s disappearance.
O’Reginald shrugged. “If there’s one thing you can always trust, it’s that evil will be true to its nature. She didn’t really lie to us, after all.”
“So where does that leave us?” Kat asked. “There are still two spirit anchors left, and we don’t know where to find them.”
“The night hag mentioned that one of them, Nihil, dwells in the high towers,” Laori offered, “and the unknown one may lair in the donjon chapel. I would suggest pursuing the devil we know. The tower lies just there.”
She nodded across the parapet to where the highest spire in the keep could be seen just beyond a nearby rooftop.
“My sister speaks wisdom,” Sial added, clearing his throat.
Kat cocked an eyebrow at her companions. Herc and Raelak shrugged noncommittally. Michael and O’Reginald nodded in agreement with the Zon-Kuthonites, and Ratbone merely growled low in his throat and stalked towards the rooftop. He reached up and grabbed the edge, and then hauled himself up. He turned back expectantly, waiting for the others to follow.
______________________________________________________

Beyond the peak of the rooftop lay another balcony with a single door leading into the tower. Herc led the way as the others readied themselves behind him. The sparsely furnished chamber beyond appeared to be a guardroom with a single table, two chairs, and a tarnished brazier. Above the table hung a bronze gong and striker. Three creatures paced restlessly around the room. They were humanoid in size and shape, but their skin was spiked with numerous wicked barbs. Sharp fangs filled their mouths and hooked talons protruded a full inch beyond the ends of their fingertips.
“Fiends!” Michael hissed over Herc’s shoulder.
Before the big mercenary could act, however, Kat stepped to his side and began weaving her hands hypnotically before her. Two of the devils watched her, momentarily transfixed, and then their eyes glazed over in confusion. A moment later, one of them dropped to the floor and curled up into a ball, cowering like a whipped pup. The third fiend snarled and leaped forward, but Herc moved in front of Kat and caught the brunt of the charge on his shield. He jerked the shield edge sharply up, catching the devil on the chin, but as he did so, his hand caught on the thing’s barbs, flaying his skin open to the bone. The devil recoiled from the blow, but recovered quickly. It raised one hand above its head and began to chant in its infernal tongue. A wave of power coursed over the companions, wracking all of them with excruciating pain, save for the followers of Zon-Kuthon.

Raelak stood up with an effort and drew back his bowstring. He fired a shimmering shaft directly into the devil’s gut. The fiend spun with the impact, but when it came around again, it unleashed another blast of dark energy. Then, it was struck by a half-ton of fur and claws as Ratbone slammed into it, bearing it to the ground and then rending it limb from limb, ignoring the savage rents its barbs left in his own flesh. At that moment, the confused fiend blinked its eyes once, its vision clearing. Too late it realized its situation. It launched itself towards Herc, but Ratbone was in the way. The druid caught the fiend around the waist and hurled it savagely into a wall, snapping its spine. Then he turned on the cowering fiend and quickly put it out of its misery.
______________________________________________________

Nihil the Ashbringer crouched brooding in the highest rafters of her tower, the same tower that once served as Kazavon’s personal bedchamber. The irony was not lost on her. She, once the personal assassin of the Dragon Lord, gifted to him by Zon-Kuthon himself, was now reduced to skulking amid the decaying remains of her former lord’s glory, a prisoner of the usurper Mithrodar. She allowed her anger at the presence of intruders within her master’s domain to burn away her self-loathing. They had already slain most of what was left of her once-grand army of gargoyles and fiends, and now they had the temerity to come for her personally. She may have failed Kazavon once, but she swore upon her immortal soul that she would not do so again. As the door to the tower swung open below, she silently ordered her minions to their positions…
________________________________________________________

The interior of the tall, hollow tower was silent and menacing. High overhead, an opening at the tower’s peak let in light, as did the arrow slits set into the walls, yet nothing seemed capable of dispelling the gloom of ancient evil that loomed there. A shallow pool of stagnant water from past rains had formed in the center of a floor that was largely empty of furnishings. Near the far wall slumped a wide bed, swathed in rotten and moldy bedclothes. The bed itself hung a few feet off the floor, supported at its corners by chains that hung from a series of iron support beams above. To the side, a large gilt throne stood upon a short dais before a series of manacles inset into the floor. A nearby fire grate, long cold, held a collection of branding irons and other torturer’s tools. A series of alcoves climbed the walls of the tower in an ascending spiral. Within each stood a statuette, art object, or polished skull.

Ratbone was the first into the tower, his hulking form taught and guarded. His feral eyes scanned the darkness above, and immediately locked onto a bare flicker of movement. His vision rapidly shifted through the visible spectrum, and then beyond. The heat signatures of three large creatures jumped out at him. They were invisible, hovering in the nest of rafters. They seemed to be mostly skeletal, though the fact that their bodies radiated heat meant that they were of flesh and blood, not undead. Long, scorpion-like tails arched over the heads, the spike-like stingers dripping with poison. Ratbone turned to warn his companions as they filed into the room, but at that moment, a harsh, shrieking voice ripped the air, and power flowed through its words. As the blasphemous sound hammered into the group, all of them felt their strength sapped, and their heads swam. At the same time, the three fiends above appeared as they flew down, howling in hell-spawned fury.

Katarina looked up as the devils drew nearer. She closed her eyes, driving back her terror and brought the words of a spell to her lips. When she opened her eyes again, they flashed with eldritch light, and the three creatures paused, hovering not twenty feet above. Their eyes locked on one another, and hatred burned in them. Talons hooked and fangs bared, they fell on each other, locked in mortal combat. Raelak quickly took advantage of the confusion and began firing amidst the fiends, while beside him, O’Reginald hurled bolts of crackling lightning into the fray.
‘There’s still something else up there!’ Ratbone snarled through the mental link the companions shared. ‘These vermin can’t be the spirit anchor. It’s still here somewhere!’
“I’ll force it to show itself!” Michael shouted aloud.
The priest cradled his holy symbol and began to pray fervently. The medallion flared with light that reached all the way to the tower roof. In its shining glow, Nihil stood revealed. She was a twisted, contorted thing with as much iron as flesh to her body. A huge pair of bat-like wings unfurled from her back and she wielded a brutal scythe that was fused with the flesh of her right arm. She hissed in fury and folded her wings, diving towards the floor forty-feet below. As she passed her quarreling underlings, she beat at them furiously with her clawed left hand.
“Fools!” she spat in Infernal. “If you want to die, I’ll kill you myself and turn your wretched souls over to the flesh peddlers!”
The bone devils shook themselves free of Kat’s beguilement at the sound of their mistress’s voice, and then proceeded to follow her down. Nihil backwinged just above the floor, hovering as she raised her free hand. Power gathered around her, and she unleashed it in a black burst, the magic siphoning the very moisture from the bodies of her enemies. At the sight of the enraged ashmede devil, both Laori and Asyra quailed, their faces draining of color. In stark terror, the pair fled the room. Sial watched them go in disbelief. His eyes narrowed as he assessed the situation, and in an instant, his decision was made.
“No!” he cried in mock fear. “Spare me, Unholy One!”
He then turned on his heel and ran after his companions.

Ratbone watched the withdrawal of the Brotherhood of Bones with a mixture of disgust and satisfaction. Quickly, however, his attention was drawn back to the matter at hand. Willing his body to transform, he shifted into his avian form and lifted off the floor. As he rose towards the fiends, he seized Herc by the shoulders in his talons and carried him aloft as well. Both of them struck at Nihil as they drew close, but the devil’s skin was like striking iron, and it shed the brunt of their blows.
“Now!” the ashmede cried.
She folded her wings once more and dove past the druid and the mercenary, landing heavily on the floor in the midst of Raelak, Michael, Kat and O’Reginald. A moment later, the bone devils chanted in unison, and frigid mist began coalescing below Ratbone and Herc. Within seconds, it solidified into a wall of solid ice bisecting the tower, separating the two from the rest of their friends…and Nihil!

Raelak darted clear of the ten-foot tall ashmede devil, struggling to get enough room to bring his bow to bear. He loosed three arrows in rapid succession, and Nihil shrieked in a mixture of pain and fury. She lunged at the ranger, batting O’Reginald aside as she charged. Her scythe-like appendage slashed at Raelak like a thresher through wheat. The Shoanti reeled, and felled heavily to his back. Nihil reared above him, preparing to drive the point of her scythe through his chest, when suddenly a bolt of green energy struck her from behind, where O’Reginald had managed to raise himself up on one elbow. Nihil stumbled as her limbs felt loose and clumsy. Her eyes blazed, and lightning flew from her fingertips, arcing from O’Reginald to Raelak to Kat, and lastly Michael. In the aftermath, all four lay on the ground around her. She howled in victory as she moved in for the kill, but her celebration was premature. Too late she saw Raelak raise his bow a final time. Two arrows flew from his string simultaneously, and both struck the fiend in the middle of her chest. Stricken, she stumbled back. Her foot caught on the short dais, and she collapsed into the ancient throne, her head slumping down upon her chest, which heaved one final breath and then was still. Somewhere in the distance, a chain snapped and an anguished moan rumbled through Scarwall.

Ratbone rapidly shifted back into his ape form, dropping Herc to the surface of the ice wall as he landed upon it himself. Just in time, as the first of the bone devils leaped upon him. Ratbone caught the fiend in mid-air, enfolding it into his four-armed grasp. The druid squeezed as the devil clawed and bit at him, as all the while its spine snapped and cracked. Finally, it went limp in Ratbone’s arms, and he dropped its lifeless corpse to the ice. As it struck the wall, however, the ice began to split and crack beneath the feet of Ratbone and Herc. A moment later, the wall collapsed entirely. The druid and mercenary fell, and the remaining two bone devils came after them. Katarina hurled a lance of solidified sonic energy at one, and Herc managed to grapple with the fiend as it tumbled through the air. He slammed at its neck with his shield again and again as it fell, and when the two of them finally struck the floor, only Herc rose to his feet again. Ratbone and the last devil landed heavily near Kat, and as they rolled to their feet, the beguiler blasted the fiend with another sonic lance. It stumbled from the impact, and in that moment Ratbone was on it. The feral druid savaged and tore at the devil as if he were possessed himself. It was no contest…

 

[SolitonMan]

Love the action, JD! Makes me want to play through the AP. Thanks for your efforts, keep up the great work!

 

[Neverwinter Knight]

Agreed, but what is it they say: 4th time's the charm. Have you already played it, JollyDoc, or are you just about to?

It sounds like you gave them a run for their money with Nihil, but...no spoilers here, alas

 

[JollyDoc]

Agreed, but what is it they say: 4th time's the charm. Have you already played it, JollyDoc, or are you just about to?

It sounds like you gave them a run for their money with Nihil, but...no spoilers here, alas

So far the guys are holding their own. The defeated the last spirit anchor this past weekend (I won't spoil it for those who haven't read the AP), and tomorrow they're probably going up against Mithrodar. There have been a few touch and go moments, though. In my next update, you will see how a simple random encounter can go terribly wrong, and how second guessing yourself can be fatal as well...

 

[Neverwinter Knight]

So far the guys are holding their own. The defeated the last spirit anchor this past weekend...

Just one teaser, maybe: any casulties?