JollyDoc
Explorer
Not yet...but several close calls.
-
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JollyDoc's Curse of the Crimson Throne: Updated 1/29/10
- Thread starter JollyDoc
- Start date
Not yet...but several close calls.
Neverwinter Knight
First Post
In my best Mr. Burns voice: "Excellent!"
JollyDoc
Explorer
A MATTER OF TRUST
“Nice of you to join us,” O’Reginald smiled dryly at the Brotherhood of Bones. “We’d hate to think you’d run out on us.”
“I apologize for our weakness,” Laori said, her cheeks burning.
“I do not require you to speak for me!” Sial snapped at her.
“Then what do you have to say for yourself, Count?” the elf woman whirled on him.
“I do not have to explain myself,” Sial growled, “to any of you!”
He turned on his heel and stalked away to the far side of the tower, Asyra following in his wake.
“Nevertheless,” Laori sighed, “I am sorry. I…don’t know what came over me. Fear is not an emotion I am accustomed to feeling.”
“Don’t worry about it,” O’Reginald clapped her on the shoulder. “I was mainly giving the ‘Shadowcount’ a hard time. Nothing you could have done about it, and truth to tell, that bitch scared the hell out of me too!”
Laori gave him a small smile out of the corner of her eye.
“What do you make of these?” Herc asked Kat. He was gazing up at the alcoves that spiraled up around the circumference of the tower. Almost half of them held polished, though brittle-looking skulls. He reached out and picked up the nearest one.
“I am Andachi of Tamrivena,” the skull said suddenly, causing Herc to drop it reflexively. It shattered into dust as it struck the floor.
“Andachi?” Michael asked. “Did it say Andachi?”
“Do you know the name?” Kat asked.
“Yes,” the priest nodded. “Count Andachi ruled Tamrivena…what is now known as Canterwall, in Ustalav…almost a millennia ago.”
Curiously, Michael picked up a second skull. It to spoke a name, as did the one after that, and the one after that. Michael identified each of them as notable people who had all lived almost one-thousand years before…until they had apparently perished at the hands of Kazavon.
“This is all fascinating,” O’Reginald yawned as he came over, “but I’m exhausted, and I’ve depleted most of my spells for the day. If we’ve still got another spirit anchor to deal with, as well as this Mithrodar thing, then can I suggest that we hole up here for the night and get some rest?”
“I think that’s a bad idea,” Ratbone grumbled, having assumed his true form for a change. “This place is bad enough during the day. We don’t know what comes out at night.”
“I think we’re safe enough,” Kat shrugged. “Nihil had this place secured pretty tightly, and there’s always the roof exit if we run into any trouble. I can make sure the door stays locked, and then we can take turns on guard while the others sleep.”
The druid merely glowered and turned away.
______________________________________________________
Two hours later, most of the companions were fast asleep. Herc, Raelak and Asyra remained awake and on guard, the humans keeping their distance from the kyton. A lantern burned in the center of the tower floor, and shadows danced at the periphery of its flickering flame. Raelak’s eyes narrowed as he watched the light. It seemed to him that some of shadows moved a little differently than the others. Suddenly, several of them detached from the darkness and swarmed towards them. Raelak raised his bow and loosed a shimmering arrow at one as it came. The shaft pierced the shadow, seemingly hanging in mid-air. Then they were upon him and his companions.
The shadows struck like living wraiths, their incorporeal hands reaching through armor as if it didn’t exist. Raelak, Asyra and Herc all felt the cold embrace of the undead, their strength leeched out of them. Another knelt beside O’Reginald as he was rousing from his slumber. Before he could do more than open his eyes, however, the shadow reached into his chest and the wizard suddenly found himself paralyzed…so weak that he could no longer move. Quickly, the ranger and the mercenary rallied what stamina they had left, shooting and slashing at the animate darkness. Behind them, Sial rose to his feet, Asyra at his side. The dark priest raised the profane symbol of Zon-Kuthon from around his neck and channeled black power through it. As if flared with red light, several of the shadows quailed before it and disappeared through the walls. Despite their weakness, Herc and Raelak were able to beat back the few remaining ones, and then they stood heaving, their hands on their knees. Quietly, Michael went to them, making the rounds to try and restore some of the damage done.
_______________________________________________________
Dawn came gray and bleak through the skylight at the top of the tower. The remainder of the night had passed uneventfully, though sleep had not come easily to any of the companions, plagued with troubling dreams as they were. Ratbone remained silent on the subject as the group readied themselves to move out again, though Katarina could tell the druid was displeased. It was decided among them that they should seek entrance to the donjon. Malatrothe had said that she suspected the last spirit anchor was inside, along with the only chance of defeating Mithrodar.
They made their way from Nihil’s tower back down to the castle courtyard. Atop a landing across the yard a double door stood, its bronze finish so tarnished that it appeared almost black. Cast in bas-relief on its exterior were gruesome images of devils and priest cavorting among the corpses and tortured souls of the damned. A skull and spiked chain overlooked the entire scene from the center of the doors…the symbol of Zon-Kuthon. A heavy wheel was set into the center of each door. Upon closer inspection, however, it became obvious that the stone jamb around the doors had been altered in some way to form a seal around them. The central seam had likewise been sealed with lead.
“What do you make of this?” Kat asked the others.
“Looks to me like someone didn’t want anyone getting in,” Herc replied.
“Or out,” Raelak noted.
“If all of Mithrodar’s spirit anchors are already bound to Scarwall,” Michael asked, “then what would be the point of sealing one of them inside?”
“Maybe it’s not a spirit anchor that’s inside,” Kat said quietly.
“What are you implying?” O’Reginald asked.
Kat shrugged. “Just that maybe we’re placing too much faith in what the night hag said. How do we know she was being truthful? Perhaps she sent us here on purpose. Perhaps it is Mithrodar who is imprisoned within, and the final spirit anchor lies back in the keep.”
O’Reginald shook his head. “No!” he snapped. “It’s like I said before…I’ve been around and seen some things, and if there’s one thing I know for a fact, you can always trust Evil to be Evil. Malatrothe told us she was self-serving. We knew what she wanted out of the deal. There would be no purpose in her setting us up. She would gain nothing by it. I think we should stick with the plan.”
“I’m…not sure…,” Michael sounded doubtful. Herc and Raelak looked dubious as well. Sial and Laori kept their expressions carefully neutral, while Ratbone’s face, once more in his animalistic form, was unreadable.
“Perhaps we could just go and look inside the room the hag warned us of…,” Kat offered.
“It’s a mistake!” O’Reginald shouted, but he could tell the matter had already been decided.
________________________________________________________
They stood huddled around the door Malatrothe had warned them away from, Kat’s ear pressed against it.
“I don’t hear anything,” she whispered.
Herc nodded and he gripped the door handle. He looked at Raelak, and the ranger nodded in return. Herc twisted and pushed the door open.
A large hall loomed beyond the door. Thick wooden columns, their sides caked with dust, supported the ceiling above. Between them, in the center of the room, sat a large fire pit, its ashes long cold. Many old stains marred the floor, some surely of spilled food and ale, though several darker ones appeared more grisly in origin. At the western end of the hall, a wide dais rose where the lord’s table could be set to oversee the affairs of the hall. In the center of the dais was a great chair carved of oak and studded with iron rivets. Down one step and to the left of it was a smaller chair of oak, less elaborate. A lone figure stood silent and still upon the dais. Its eyes blazed in a deathless rage. It seemed to be some sort of phantom, floating unfettered by the bonds of the living world. The ghostly horror possessed its own ethereal bonds, though, its semi-transparent, vaguely humanoid figure clenched in the hold of countless crisscrossing chains that writhed and tightened over its vaporous form in unending torture. Several of those chains extended from the ghost’s body, some dangling through the floor or reaching seemingly through the ceiling above, while others pooled in spectral lengths upon the ground like solid things. Three particularly long chains seemed to have been broken halfway along their length. On the floor at the phantom’s feet, lay the shriveled, husk-like remains of Malatrothe.
“Uh-oh,” Herc said.
Before the mercenary and the ranger could move or warn their companions, Mithrodar, for there could be no doubt that was whom they faced, swung one length of chain and snapped it out like a whip, stretching it fully thirty feet to strike quick as a snake around Raelak. The Shoanti screamed in agony as he felt the spectral links pulling something…vital…from him. Herc looked on in horror as his friend’s face became drawn and gray, his eyes sunken. The big warrior seized the Shoanti by the back of his jerkin and yanked him out the door. As he turned, he saw shadowy forms materializing from the darkness around the perimeter of the room. They looked human, but he could see through them, their archaic robes flowing around them like wisps of cloud. As he watched, they began stepping through the walls and into the corridor where the others waited, still oblivious to the danger.
“Run!” Herc shouted.
“Nice of you to join us,” O’Reginald smiled dryly at the Brotherhood of Bones. “We’d hate to think you’d run out on us.”
“I apologize for our weakness,” Laori said, her cheeks burning.
“I do not require you to speak for me!” Sial snapped at her.
“Then what do you have to say for yourself, Count?” the elf woman whirled on him.
“I do not have to explain myself,” Sial growled, “to any of you!”
He turned on his heel and stalked away to the far side of the tower, Asyra following in his wake.
“Nevertheless,” Laori sighed, “I am sorry. I…don’t know what came over me. Fear is not an emotion I am accustomed to feeling.”
“Don’t worry about it,” O’Reginald clapped her on the shoulder. “I was mainly giving the ‘Shadowcount’ a hard time. Nothing you could have done about it, and truth to tell, that bitch scared the hell out of me too!”
Laori gave him a small smile out of the corner of her eye.
“What do you make of these?” Herc asked Kat. He was gazing up at the alcoves that spiraled up around the circumference of the tower. Almost half of them held polished, though brittle-looking skulls. He reached out and picked up the nearest one.
“I am Andachi of Tamrivena,” the skull said suddenly, causing Herc to drop it reflexively. It shattered into dust as it struck the floor.
“Andachi?” Michael asked. “Did it say Andachi?”
“Do you know the name?” Kat asked.
“Yes,” the priest nodded. “Count Andachi ruled Tamrivena…what is now known as Canterwall, in Ustalav…almost a millennia ago.”
Curiously, Michael picked up a second skull. It to spoke a name, as did the one after that, and the one after that. Michael identified each of them as notable people who had all lived almost one-thousand years before…until they had apparently perished at the hands of Kazavon.
“This is all fascinating,” O’Reginald yawned as he came over, “but I’m exhausted, and I’ve depleted most of my spells for the day. If we’ve still got another spirit anchor to deal with, as well as this Mithrodar thing, then can I suggest that we hole up here for the night and get some rest?”
“I think that’s a bad idea,” Ratbone grumbled, having assumed his true form for a change. “This place is bad enough during the day. We don’t know what comes out at night.”
“I think we’re safe enough,” Kat shrugged. “Nihil had this place secured pretty tightly, and there’s always the roof exit if we run into any trouble. I can make sure the door stays locked, and then we can take turns on guard while the others sleep.”
The druid merely glowered and turned away.
______________________________________________________
Two hours later, most of the companions were fast asleep. Herc, Raelak and Asyra remained awake and on guard, the humans keeping their distance from the kyton. A lantern burned in the center of the tower floor, and shadows danced at the periphery of its flickering flame. Raelak’s eyes narrowed as he watched the light. It seemed to him that some of shadows moved a little differently than the others. Suddenly, several of them detached from the darkness and swarmed towards them. Raelak raised his bow and loosed a shimmering arrow at one as it came. The shaft pierced the shadow, seemingly hanging in mid-air. Then they were upon him and his companions.
The shadows struck like living wraiths, their incorporeal hands reaching through armor as if it didn’t exist. Raelak, Asyra and Herc all felt the cold embrace of the undead, their strength leeched out of them. Another knelt beside O’Reginald as he was rousing from his slumber. Before he could do more than open his eyes, however, the shadow reached into his chest and the wizard suddenly found himself paralyzed…so weak that he could no longer move. Quickly, the ranger and the mercenary rallied what stamina they had left, shooting and slashing at the animate darkness. Behind them, Sial rose to his feet, Asyra at his side. The dark priest raised the profane symbol of Zon-Kuthon from around his neck and channeled black power through it. As if flared with red light, several of the shadows quailed before it and disappeared through the walls. Despite their weakness, Herc and Raelak were able to beat back the few remaining ones, and then they stood heaving, their hands on their knees. Quietly, Michael went to them, making the rounds to try and restore some of the damage done.
_______________________________________________________
Dawn came gray and bleak through the skylight at the top of the tower. The remainder of the night had passed uneventfully, though sleep had not come easily to any of the companions, plagued with troubling dreams as they were. Ratbone remained silent on the subject as the group readied themselves to move out again, though Katarina could tell the druid was displeased. It was decided among them that they should seek entrance to the donjon. Malatrothe had said that she suspected the last spirit anchor was inside, along with the only chance of defeating Mithrodar.
They made their way from Nihil’s tower back down to the castle courtyard. Atop a landing across the yard a double door stood, its bronze finish so tarnished that it appeared almost black. Cast in bas-relief on its exterior were gruesome images of devils and priest cavorting among the corpses and tortured souls of the damned. A skull and spiked chain overlooked the entire scene from the center of the doors…the symbol of Zon-Kuthon. A heavy wheel was set into the center of each door. Upon closer inspection, however, it became obvious that the stone jamb around the doors had been altered in some way to form a seal around them. The central seam had likewise been sealed with lead.
“What do you make of this?” Kat asked the others.
“Looks to me like someone didn’t want anyone getting in,” Herc replied.
“Or out,” Raelak noted.
“If all of Mithrodar’s spirit anchors are already bound to Scarwall,” Michael asked, “then what would be the point of sealing one of them inside?”
“Maybe it’s not a spirit anchor that’s inside,” Kat said quietly.
“What are you implying?” O’Reginald asked.
Kat shrugged. “Just that maybe we’re placing too much faith in what the night hag said. How do we know she was being truthful? Perhaps she sent us here on purpose. Perhaps it is Mithrodar who is imprisoned within, and the final spirit anchor lies back in the keep.”
O’Reginald shook his head. “No!” he snapped. “It’s like I said before…I’ve been around and seen some things, and if there’s one thing I know for a fact, you can always trust Evil to be Evil. Malatrothe told us she was self-serving. We knew what she wanted out of the deal. There would be no purpose in her setting us up. She would gain nothing by it. I think we should stick with the plan.”
“I’m…not sure…,” Michael sounded doubtful. Herc and Raelak looked dubious as well. Sial and Laori kept their expressions carefully neutral, while Ratbone’s face, once more in his animalistic form, was unreadable.
“Perhaps we could just go and look inside the room the hag warned us of…,” Kat offered.
“It’s a mistake!” O’Reginald shouted, but he could tell the matter had already been decided.
________________________________________________________
They stood huddled around the door Malatrothe had warned them away from, Kat’s ear pressed against it.
“I don’t hear anything,” she whispered.
Herc nodded and he gripped the door handle. He looked at Raelak, and the ranger nodded in return. Herc twisted and pushed the door open.
A large hall loomed beyond the door. Thick wooden columns, their sides caked with dust, supported the ceiling above. Between them, in the center of the room, sat a large fire pit, its ashes long cold. Many old stains marred the floor, some surely of spilled food and ale, though several darker ones appeared more grisly in origin. At the western end of the hall, a wide dais rose where the lord’s table could be set to oversee the affairs of the hall. In the center of the dais was a great chair carved of oak and studded with iron rivets. Down one step and to the left of it was a smaller chair of oak, less elaborate. A lone figure stood silent and still upon the dais. Its eyes blazed in a deathless rage. It seemed to be some sort of phantom, floating unfettered by the bonds of the living world. The ghostly horror possessed its own ethereal bonds, though, its semi-transparent, vaguely humanoid figure clenched in the hold of countless crisscrossing chains that writhed and tightened over its vaporous form in unending torture. Several of those chains extended from the ghost’s body, some dangling through the floor or reaching seemingly through the ceiling above, while others pooled in spectral lengths upon the ground like solid things. Three particularly long chains seemed to have been broken halfway along their length. On the floor at the phantom’s feet, lay the shriveled, husk-like remains of Malatrothe.
“Uh-oh,” Herc said.
Before the mercenary and the ranger could move or warn their companions, Mithrodar, for there could be no doubt that was whom they faced, swung one length of chain and snapped it out like a whip, stretching it fully thirty feet to strike quick as a snake around Raelak. The Shoanti screamed in agony as he felt the spectral links pulling something…vital…from him. Herc looked on in horror as his friend’s face became drawn and gray, his eyes sunken. The big warrior seized the Shoanti by the back of his jerkin and yanked him out the door. As he turned, he saw shadowy forms materializing from the darkness around the perimeter of the room. They looked human, but he could see through them, their archaic robes flowing around them like wisps of cloud. As he watched, they began stepping through the walls and into the corridor where the others waited, still oblivious to the danger.
“Run!” Herc shouted.
carborundum
Adventurer
LOL... Herc gets all the best lines!
"Uh-oh..."
"Run..."
"Uh-oh..."
"Run..."
JollyDoc
Explorer
Fighters...men and women of action, not words...
Neverwinter Knight
First Post
"Grr. Roy smash puny kobolds." (I have an MBA, you know.) 
JollyDoc
Explorer
TOMB OF HORRORS
“Ha!” O’Reginald barked at his companions as they stood panting in the courtyard, having narrowly escaped the clutches of Mithrodar and his spectral minions. “I told you! I warned you!”
“Alright, you’ve quite made your point!” Kat snapped angrily. “We made a choice, and it was a mistake, but we’re all still here, so let’s move on!”
“Just wanted to say I told you so,” the wizard grumbled under his breath.
There seemed no other alternative but to return to the donjon’s sealed doors.
“So how do you propose to circumvent this dilemma?” Sial asked sarcastically as the group stood before the portals. In response, O’Reginald pointed one finger at the doors, spoke a word, and sent a thin green beam at one of them, reducing it instantly to dust. Sial’s face twisted in a grimace of distaste and he turned quickly away.
Ratbone moved to the fore of the group and peered inside the door. The floor of the foyer beyond was tiled in blood-red marble. An altar that resembled a skull, its lower section wrapped in iron chains, and its top cut off flat to form a level surface, stood in an alcove to the east. A ten-foot diameter pool of what appeared to be stagnant water, its rim fashioned of white marble, sat in the western alcove opposite the altar. Ratbone stepped across the threshold, but as soon as he did, he doubled over and grunted in agony as some unseen force violently shoved the one-ton shapeshifter backwards onto the balcony.
“Hmm…,” Sial quirked one eyebrow in amusement.
Kat stepped to the doorway and passed her hands over it.
“There is a powerful enchantment here,” she said, “a Forbiddance.”
“May I?” Laori asked, moving to Kat’s side. “This is a holy place of Zon-Kuthon. Perhaps the way will open to His faithful.”
Kat shrugged and gestured the elf forward. Laori stepped past her…and passed easily through the door. When Kat examined the portal again, she found that the Forbiddance was gone.
Once inside, Laori, Sial and Asyra genuflected before the altar, and then each of them used the spiked barbs on their chains to slice open their palms. They went to the pool and dipped their hands into the filthy water, washing the blood clean.
A second set of doors on the opposite side of the shrine opened into what seemed to have once been a common room. A worn by colorful carpet covered most of the floor, and a number of wooden tables and comfortable chairs were spaced about the chamber for informal gatherings and meals. A small kitchen had been set up by a low stone fireplace alongside a cupboard that held some dishes and utensils as well as a few desiccated remains of foodstuffs. Strangely, a half-dozen figures were seated around one of the tables, as if in deep discussion. They wore black robes that appeared rotten and threadbare with age. They turned in unison when the doors opened, and it was only then that the companions saw that their gaunt faces and empty eye sockets were translucent, as where the trappings they wore. They shrieked when they sensed the living life force of the intruders and rose, claw-like fingernails bared.
The specters flew among them, their touch numbing with the preternatural cold of the grave. Sial, reasoning that the spirits would obey him as a devotee of Zon-Kuthon, tried to rebuke them, but to no avail. They showed no preference, nor discrimination in whom they assaulted. So the Zon-Kuthonites found themselves fighting hand-in-glove with the K.I.A. With the two forces fighting in unison for the first time, they managed to destroy the wraiths one-by-one. As the last one faded from existence, Michael, Sial and Laori tended their allies in silence, a sense of shared responsibility overriding animosity.
_______________________________________________________
The donjon seemed largely abandoned, yet untouched by the passage of the centuries. Given the nature of the numerous empty rooms the allies encountered, the structure obviously served as Kazavon’s personal temple to Zon-Kuthon. Yet there was still a brooding presence in the air, almost as if something…waited. Then, they came upon a chamber that seemed shrouded in writhing shadows. A large, humanoid figure stood motionless deeper in the room. Ratbone crouched, his hackles raised as he stalked slowly forward, waving his companions behind him. As he drew closer to the figure, he realized it was in fact a statue of a cloaked figure with a skull for a head and a spiked chain dangling from its eye sockets…a representation of Zon-Kuthon. The druid relaxed slightly…until he saw a second, smaller figure step from behind the statue. It to was humanoid, its body wrapped from head to toe in filthy bandages. An ornate, archaic pectoral hung from its neck, and an elaborate head dress topped its turbaned head. Ratbone snarled and swung a massive paw at the frail-looking mummy. His eyes widened a moment later when the undead priest grabbed his hand in mid-swing with a vice-like grip. Suddenly, a battle cry roared from behind the druid as Herc rushed to his side. The big mercenary bull-rushed forward behind his shield…and the mummy deftly side-stepped his charge. The creature then raised its free hand and began tracing a luminous sigil in mid-air. Laori cried out in agony as she saw it, her body wracked in agonizing pain. Katarina quickly conjured a mass of darkness to veil the symbol, while at the same time sending the roiling cloud to envelop the mummy lord. The dark tendrils tried to wrap around the priest’s arms and legs, but to no avail.
“To Hades with this!” Raelak barked.
The ranger then loosed a barrage of shimmering arrows, skewering the mummy with each shot. The creature howled and recoiled from the assault, and that was when Ratbone pounced. The druid clamped his jaws down on the mummy’s neck and proceeded to shake the priest like a dog with a bone. He slung his head, flinging the mummy across the room. As it attempted to rise, a lance of pure sound from Kat’s hand obliterated it into a cloud of dust.
____________________________________________________
Finally, after searching the donjon for what seemed like hours, Katarina found a well-hidden door secreted in an out-of-the-way corner. Behind it was a narrow flight of stairs that led down. At the bottom was a long hallway which ended at a pair of large double doors.
“The chapel,” Sial whispered reverently.
Ratbone glowered at the priest over his shoulder before he pushed open the doors. The vast chamber on the other side was floored in gray slate and supported by thick pillars of obsidian. Torches mounted on the pillars burned, yet their flames were strangely dim, barely illuminating the cathedral-like space. The pillars themselves were decorated with skulls and bones…tiny white pinpoints of light seemed to dance in the eye sockets of each. To the northwest, a tall statue of a skull-headed man dressed in dark robes stood behind a black marble altar, on which lay heaped mounds of ashes, bits of bone, and a single skull, its teeth and eye sockets set with glittering gemstones. Jagged, barbed chains dangled from the statue’s eye sockets. Thick black curtains hung from the walls of the chamber.
Cautiously, Ratbone moved towards the altar.
“Careful,” Kat warned from behind him. “I sense a strong magic presence beneath that skull.”
The druid nodded and continued forward. When he reached the altar, he tilted his head quizzically as he regarded the odd skull. Then he reached out and simply picked it up, dusting off the ash as he did so. A moment later, the skull floated out of his hand and hovered in the air before him. The ashes and bone on the altar began to scatter as if up in a small vortex.
“Get back!” Herc shouted as he moved up beside Ratbone, swinging his sword as he came. The blade struck the skull solidly, but rebounded off as if it had struck a stone wall.
The large gem in the skull’s right eye socket began to glow red. Farther back in the chapel, Raelak felt a power seize him. It was not his body that was seized, but his soul. For the briefest of moments, he felt his spirit leave his flesh, but then just as quickly, he was wrenched back, yet he felt…drained, and so very, very tired. Feeling like his arms could barely move, he lifted his bow and fired. The arrow struck the skull directly in the frontal bone…and bounced harmlessly off. Ratbone bared his fangs, seized the skull with both hands, and bit down on its cranium savagely. He felt a satisfying crack between his jaws before it wriggled violently in his grip again.
“Hold it still for just another second!” Herc shouted.
The big merc then slammed his shield forward, simultaneously bringing his sword down in an overhand chop. The blade struck the skull directly across the fracture Ratbone had created, and the bones shattered into a thousand pieces, the priceless gems skittering across the floor, their light going dim. In the distance, a final chain snapped, and a soul-freezing roar shook the foundations of Scarwall. Mithrodar was free…
“Ha!” O’Reginald barked at his companions as they stood panting in the courtyard, having narrowly escaped the clutches of Mithrodar and his spectral minions. “I told you! I warned you!”
“Alright, you’ve quite made your point!” Kat snapped angrily. “We made a choice, and it was a mistake, but we’re all still here, so let’s move on!”
“Just wanted to say I told you so,” the wizard grumbled under his breath.
There seemed no other alternative but to return to the donjon’s sealed doors.
“So how do you propose to circumvent this dilemma?” Sial asked sarcastically as the group stood before the portals. In response, O’Reginald pointed one finger at the doors, spoke a word, and sent a thin green beam at one of them, reducing it instantly to dust. Sial’s face twisted in a grimace of distaste and he turned quickly away.
Ratbone moved to the fore of the group and peered inside the door. The floor of the foyer beyond was tiled in blood-red marble. An altar that resembled a skull, its lower section wrapped in iron chains, and its top cut off flat to form a level surface, stood in an alcove to the east. A ten-foot diameter pool of what appeared to be stagnant water, its rim fashioned of white marble, sat in the western alcove opposite the altar. Ratbone stepped across the threshold, but as soon as he did, he doubled over and grunted in agony as some unseen force violently shoved the one-ton shapeshifter backwards onto the balcony.
“Hmm…,” Sial quirked one eyebrow in amusement.
Kat stepped to the doorway and passed her hands over it.
“There is a powerful enchantment here,” she said, “a Forbiddance.”
“May I?” Laori asked, moving to Kat’s side. “This is a holy place of Zon-Kuthon. Perhaps the way will open to His faithful.”
Kat shrugged and gestured the elf forward. Laori stepped past her…and passed easily through the door. When Kat examined the portal again, she found that the Forbiddance was gone.
Once inside, Laori, Sial and Asyra genuflected before the altar, and then each of them used the spiked barbs on their chains to slice open their palms. They went to the pool and dipped their hands into the filthy water, washing the blood clean.
A second set of doors on the opposite side of the shrine opened into what seemed to have once been a common room. A worn by colorful carpet covered most of the floor, and a number of wooden tables and comfortable chairs were spaced about the chamber for informal gatherings and meals. A small kitchen had been set up by a low stone fireplace alongside a cupboard that held some dishes and utensils as well as a few desiccated remains of foodstuffs. Strangely, a half-dozen figures were seated around one of the tables, as if in deep discussion. They wore black robes that appeared rotten and threadbare with age. They turned in unison when the doors opened, and it was only then that the companions saw that their gaunt faces and empty eye sockets were translucent, as where the trappings they wore. They shrieked when they sensed the living life force of the intruders and rose, claw-like fingernails bared.
The specters flew among them, their touch numbing with the preternatural cold of the grave. Sial, reasoning that the spirits would obey him as a devotee of Zon-Kuthon, tried to rebuke them, but to no avail. They showed no preference, nor discrimination in whom they assaulted. So the Zon-Kuthonites found themselves fighting hand-in-glove with the K.I.A. With the two forces fighting in unison for the first time, they managed to destroy the wraiths one-by-one. As the last one faded from existence, Michael, Sial and Laori tended their allies in silence, a sense of shared responsibility overriding animosity.
_______________________________________________________
The donjon seemed largely abandoned, yet untouched by the passage of the centuries. Given the nature of the numerous empty rooms the allies encountered, the structure obviously served as Kazavon’s personal temple to Zon-Kuthon. Yet there was still a brooding presence in the air, almost as if something…waited. Then, they came upon a chamber that seemed shrouded in writhing shadows. A large, humanoid figure stood motionless deeper in the room. Ratbone crouched, his hackles raised as he stalked slowly forward, waving his companions behind him. As he drew closer to the figure, he realized it was in fact a statue of a cloaked figure with a skull for a head and a spiked chain dangling from its eye sockets…a representation of Zon-Kuthon. The druid relaxed slightly…until he saw a second, smaller figure step from behind the statue. It to was humanoid, its body wrapped from head to toe in filthy bandages. An ornate, archaic pectoral hung from its neck, and an elaborate head dress topped its turbaned head. Ratbone snarled and swung a massive paw at the frail-looking mummy. His eyes widened a moment later when the undead priest grabbed his hand in mid-swing with a vice-like grip. Suddenly, a battle cry roared from behind the druid as Herc rushed to his side. The big mercenary bull-rushed forward behind his shield…and the mummy deftly side-stepped his charge. The creature then raised its free hand and began tracing a luminous sigil in mid-air. Laori cried out in agony as she saw it, her body wracked in agonizing pain. Katarina quickly conjured a mass of darkness to veil the symbol, while at the same time sending the roiling cloud to envelop the mummy lord. The dark tendrils tried to wrap around the priest’s arms and legs, but to no avail.
“To Hades with this!” Raelak barked.
The ranger then loosed a barrage of shimmering arrows, skewering the mummy with each shot. The creature howled and recoiled from the assault, and that was when Ratbone pounced. The druid clamped his jaws down on the mummy’s neck and proceeded to shake the priest like a dog with a bone. He slung his head, flinging the mummy across the room. As it attempted to rise, a lance of pure sound from Kat’s hand obliterated it into a cloud of dust.
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Finally, after searching the donjon for what seemed like hours, Katarina found a well-hidden door secreted in an out-of-the-way corner. Behind it was a narrow flight of stairs that led down. At the bottom was a long hallway which ended at a pair of large double doors.
“The chapel,” Sial whispered reverently.
Ratbone glowered at the priest over his shoulder before he pushed open the doors. The vast chamber on the other side was floored in gray slate and supported by thick pillars of obsidian. Torches mounted on the pillars burned, yet their flames were strangely dim, barely illuminating the cathedral-like space. The pillars themselves were decorated with skulls and bones…tiny white pinpoints of light seemed to dance in the eye sockets of each. To the northwest, a tall statue of a skull-headed man dressed in dark robes stood behind a black marble altar, on which lay heaped mounds of ashes, bits of bone, and a single skull, its teeth and eye sockets set with glittering gemstones. Jagged, barbed chains dangled from the statue’s eye sockets. Thick black curtains hung from the walls of the chamber.
Cautiously, Ratbone moved towards the altar.
“Careful,” Kat warned from behind him. “I sense a strong magic presence beneath that skull.”
The druid nodded and continued forward. When he reached the altar, he tilted his head quizzically as he regarded the odd skull. Then he reached out and simply picked it up, dusting off the ash as he did so. A moment later, the skull floated out of his hand and hovered in the air before him. The ashes and bone on the altar began to scatter as if up in a small vortex.
“Get back!” Herc shouted as he moved up beside Ratbone, swinging his sword as he came. The blade struck the skull solidly, but rebounded off as if it had struck a stone wall.
The large gem in the skull’s right eye socket began to glow red. Farther back in the chapel, Raelak felt a power seize him. It was not his body that was seized, but his soul. For the briefest of moments, he felt his spirit leave his flesh, but then just as quickly, he was wrenched back, yet he felt…drained, and so very, very tired. Feeling like his arms could barely move, he lifted his bow and fired. The arrow struck the skull directly in the frontal bone…and bounced harmlessly off. Ratbone bared his fangs, seized the skull with both hands, and bit down on its cranium savagely. He felt a satisfying crack between his jaws before it wriggled violently in his grip again.
“Hold it still for just another second!” Herc shouted.
The big merc then slammed his shield forward, simultaneously bringing his sword down in an overhand chop. The blade struck the skull directly across the fracture Ratbone had created, and the bones shattered into a thousand pieces, the priceless gems skittering across the floor, their light going dim. In the distance, a final chain snapped, and a soul-freezing roar shook the foundations of Scarwall. Mithrodar was free…
carborundum
Adventurer
Ooooh, this is just one brutal fight after another! I'm enjoying it immensely, of course!
Neverwinter Knight
First Post
It's too late to tell them that a dispel evil would have sufficed. Joke aside, great job, guys. JollyDoc, did you ever read your group the intro or sidebar from Pathfinder to this encounter? You know, the one that says "Hey, the DL will very, very likely kill some or all PCs, but go ahead, it's fun."
JollyDoc
Explorer
I did, indeed. They laughed.
