Joachim
First Post
Well, in reality I can only shapeshift into normal animal shapes...its the additional spells that you can use that add the extra appendages/abominationousness.
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JollyDoc's Curse of the Crimson Throne: Updated 1/29/10
- Thread starter JollyDoc
- Start date
Well, in reality I can only shapeshift into normal animal shapes...its the additional spells that you can use that add the extra appendages/abominationousness.
Ceramic Weasel
First Post
Now, if he were to take the Aberration Wild Shape feat from Lords of Madness, pg 178... *that* would be incongruous. Loads of fun, but incongruous.
JollyDoc
Explorer
THE HOSPICE OF THE BLESSED MAIDEN
The stinging scent of alcohol and medicine flooded the dingy reception room, an odor typical to hospices, morgues, and battlefields. Across from the entrance sat a long wooden desk, beyond which a stained leather curtain covered an open archway, muffling moans from beyond. A burly nurse sat at the desk, three scarves wrapped over her mouth and nose, and heavy leather gloves on her hands. A half-dozen citizens huddled in chairs and against the walls, each of them exhibiting symptoms of blood veil, some at quite advanced stages.
The nurse glanced up disinterestedly as Katarina and her companions entered, but said nothing, her eyes dropping back down to her papers.
“Excuse me,” Kat said, clearing her throat after several minutes, “but we’re here to see Dr. Davaulus.”
“Everyone is here to see the doctors,” the nurse said without looking up. “Take a seat and wait your turn.”
“I don’t think you understand,” Kat said calmly. “We work for the Guard, and we’re here on official business.”
The nurse raised her eyes and shrugged. “Sorry, can’t help you.”
“Madame,” Kat said, leaning across the desk, her voice becoming more commanding, “Dr. Davaulus personally instructed us to report to him with any information about the plague, and that’s what we’re going to do. If you interfere, and more deaths result, I’ll personally inform the Doctor of the role you played.”
The nurse’s eyes began to show just the slightest amount of concern.
“Well…,” she hesitated, “I suppose when you put it that way…but I’m not responsible if there’s any trouble in there!”
“Of course not,” Kat smiled. “Thank you for your assistance Nurse…?”
“Torthus,” the nurse replied, “Bhrunlida Torthus.”
___________________________________________________
The warehouse’s vast interior had been converted into one gigantic convalescent’s ward, the stench of alcohol, sickness, and waste choking each breath. Tight rows of low, stained cots crammed the stone-floored hall. Every bed was filled with a pitiful story…men and women of all walks groaning and wheezing as they were consumed by blood veil, their sufferings multiplied by the echoing chamber. Several queen’s physicians milled about the cots, cooing at their patients in falsely sympathetic voices, their avian masks giving them an unnerving resemblance to crows waiting to feed. A catwalk, twenty feet above, wrapped around the entire chamber, and two gray maidens paced it, while three more stood before closed doors on the far side of the ground level.
One of the gray maidens strode purposefully across the room towards the members of the K.I.A.
“You will leave this place immediately,” she commanded. “I know who you are and whom you represent, and you have no business here.”
As she spoke, the maidens on the catwalk readied their bows.
“Please,” Kat said placatingly, “you misunderstand our intentions. We have news for Dr. Davaulus. We have discovered some very vital information regarding the plague. He asked that we report to him immediately if we had such news.”
“If you have something to report,” the maiden said curtly, “then take it through proper channels. Now I tell you again, leave.”
“You don’t understand what we’ve been through,” Kat said, her tone growing hard. “We’ve uncovered a charlatan’s plot to sell a fake cure. We’ve stopped the unlawful dumping of the dead. We’ve forestalled an uprising by the wererats of the sewers, and finally, we’ve personally investigated the wreck of the plague ship and uncovered what we suspect to be the cause of blood veil. We’re not leaving until we see the Doctor.”
“Then I’m afraid you won’t be leaving at all,” the warrior said flatly as she drew her sword.
Behind her, the other two gray maidens also drew their weapons, while on the catwalk, the pair there pulled back their bows. In the mean time, while Katarina had been making her case, the physicians had been quietly repositioning themselves, and the six companions abruptly found themselves surrounded.
As Kat turned towards her friends, stars suddenly exploded behind her eyes when one of the doctors pulled a truncheon from his coat and struck her. At the same time, the gray maiden slashed viciously at Ratbone with her sword, while one of the archers fired carelessly into the melee, her shot going wide and striking one of the patients in his sick bed instead.
“No!” Ratbone cried, his words turning into a vicious snarl as his body shifted into his canine form, simultaneously sprouting two more arms. In a rage, the druid pounced on the maiden before him, bore her to the ground and savagely tore out her throat.
“Here now! What’s the meaning of all this?” The leather curtain to the waiting room was torn aside as Bhrunlida stormed in, brandishing a heavy sap in one hand. Her protestations were cut abruptly short when Herc’s shield smashed into her face, and she collapsed in a heap.
By that time, the other two gray maidens had closed the distance, and Ratbone was there to meet them, disemboweling one with a slash of his claws. Meanwhile, Valeris dispatched one of the encroaching doctors with a sizzling flash of his blade, imbued as it was with electric fire. Michael felled another with a quick thrust of his own blade, and then a third as the doctor attempted to flee. Ratbone, fully in the throes of animalistic blood lust, brutally and efficiently tore apart the last physician and gray maiden. Only the archers remained. Katarina turned her attention to them, summoning a simple charm to drop one of them into a deep slumber. Before she could do the same to the other, however, Ratbone had transformed again, taking his avian form and flying up to the catwalk. Once there, he resumed his mongrel shape and savaged the last of the gray maidens. Then, slowly, deliberately, the druid walked to stand over the sleeping warrior.
“No,” Kat whispered.
Ratbone dipped his muzzle, the image of the archer’s arrow piercing the heart of the helpless patient in the room below, and he quickly snapped the maiden’s neck.
____________________________________________________
As the rest of the group fanned out about the room, searching for possible hidden enemies, Michael went from bed to bed, giving comfort where he could, and universally promising the infirm that he and his companions would return for them after they secured the building. The remainder of the ground floor proved to be unoccupied, but a large cargo lift seemed to lead to an upper floor. The six crammed in, shifted the lever, and the lift slowly began to rise. When the door opened on the floor above, it was onto a hall in which the rough functionality of the warehouse below gave way to beige tile and white walls. A door engraved with images of rampant gazelles stood on the far end, its once fine teak bearing obvious scores and gaping chips from rough use. No sooner had the lift door opened, than three gray maidens stepped in front of it, swords bared. Unfortunately for them, Ratbone was ready as well, and the first two quickly went down in a gory pile. The third hesitated momentarily, and in that moment, Katarina acted, quickly weaving a spell that put the warrior under her thrall.
“Hold your weapons,” she said quietly to her companions, and then aloud, she addressed the maiden.
“Can you tell us where to find Dr. Davaulus?”
The gray maiden nodded towards the carved doors. “His office lies beyond,” she said.
“Is there anyone with him?” Kat asked.
“I know not,” the maiden replied. “We are charged with guarding this area. We do not go beyond the doors.”
“Do you know exactly what is going on here?” Kat asked. “Are the doctors directly involved with the plague?”
The gray maiden shrugged. “We answer to the Queen. She has commanded us to guard the physicians, and so we do. Anything else is not our concern.”
“Thank you, my friend,” Kat said. “We are going to speak with the Doctor now. Do you mind waiting here?”
The maiden nodded and took up a defensive position near the lift.
The door was securely locked, but it proved only a minor obstacle for Kat. When the door swung open, however, the scene that greeted the companions froze them momentarily in their tracks. Rows of white-sheeted beds lined the walls of the room. Each was occupied, every bed bearing a patient restrained by leather straps that bound the figure to the sturdy metal frame. At the room’s center stretched simple wooden worktables, each covered in fluid-filled beakers, intricate glass tubes, small burners and other chemical instruments. Four queen’s physicians turned from their patients in unison as the door opened, then, once more in unison, they drew their cudgels from the coats. Herc, Ratbone and Michael moved to intercept them, the druid taking his simian form as he went. The doctors tried to flank the intruders, but they might as well have been trying to contain a rushing river. The three companions were a blur as they struck, taking down the four before they could even raise their weapons.
The group began moving through the experimental ward, Michael stopping to examine each of the restrained patients. They were all unconscious, under the effects of some kind of sedative that the priest could not identify. Suddenly, a low growl came from Ratbone as his head whipped back towards the carved door. The druid’s animal forms greatly enhanced his senses, giving him an almost extra-sensory perception. Thus, when the invisible figure rushed past him, running for the lift, Ratbone saw him as a dim, blurred shape. Falling to all fours, the druid loped after the fleeing figure, and just before his quarry reached the lift, Ratbone struck out with a large, clawed paw. A man’s voice cried out in pain as blood splashed the floor. Kat turned to see what had drawn her friend’s attention. She saw the ape grappling with an unseen foe, and she passed a hand over her eyes, uttering a brief spell. When it was complete, her vision had been altered to allow her to see the unseen. She gasped as she saw that Ratbone’s foe was none other than Dr. Davaulus himself! As she watched, Ratbone folded the physician into his massive grip, and Davaulus raised his hand, a spell on his lips. As he did so, however, Ratbone squeezed, and the words to the incantation were abruptly cut off. The attempted attack, however, rendered the doctor visible.
“Release me!” Davaulus commanded. Don’t you see? Your crusade to save this city is a fool’s errand! Disease is the world’s way to bring back balance! In order for civilizations to grow and prosper, the parts of society that hold everything else back must be periodically pruned! Korvosa will be stronger at the end of these dark days…a place you and I would be proud to call home!”
Ratbone’s eyes gave the doctor all the answer he needed, and what he saw there was his own imminent death. His screams were abruptly brought to a gurgling end as the druid’s jaws closed over his throat.
_____________________________________________________
A thorough search of the good Doctor and his office turned up very little. Of note were several scattered scraps of paper speculating on the source of some Varisians' immunity to blood veil, and an odd button that was found in Davaulus’s pocket.
“So that’s it, right?” Ratbone asked. “Now we go to Cressida and tell her what’s really been going on.”
“And what is that, exactly?” Michael asked mildly.
“Come on!” the druid shouted. “It’s obvious! Davaulus and his goons have been experimenting on people, infecting them with blood veil, which, by the way, they brought here and released in the first place! Furthermore, I think the queen is in on it to!”
“Where’s your proof?” Michael asked, his voice very calm.
“What do you mean?” Ratbone asked, astonished. “It’s all around us! Just look at this place and what we’ve uncovered. They attacked us!”
“I’ll tell you what I see,” Michael said, “and what the Guard will also see: we came here unannounced and uninvited. We killed several of the queen’s physicians as well as her gray maidens. There are no reliable witnesses to say who struck first. Those poor souls in the sick bay certainly won’t make good alibis. We also killed the Queen’s Physician himself, once again with no witnesses to prove he did anything wrong. The only documentation we’ve found is that he suspected some Varisians might be immune, hence these people.” He indicated the bound, unconscious patients, all of whom just happened to be Varisian.”
“Yes, but we know!” Ratbone protested. “The doctor on the Direption! The deed naming Davaulus the owner of the ship! Urgathoa’s symbol!’
“All circumstantial,” Michael shook his head. “The defense will say that anyone could have impersonated a physician, a crime punishable by death mind you, and planted that deed to falsely incriminate Davaulus. Also, they’ll claim that he kept these Varisians here in hopes of finding a cure to blood veil. Meanwhile, we’ll be accused of outright murder, and likely face the headsman’s axe by morning.”
“What about the guard Kat charmed?” Ratbone asked, his voice growing desperate. “She can attest to what Davaulus told me!”
“The charm won’t last,” Kat said. “She’ll be out from under its influence within hours. Speaking of which…,”
Kat turned to their erstwhile ally and spoke another spell, causing the gray maiden to fall into a magically induced sleep. The beguiler then set about binding her tightly.
“This isn’t right!” Ratbone fumed. “We know the truth, and yet you’re saying there’s nothing we can do about it??”
“There may still be more here,” Michael said calmly. “For instance, what’s this go to?”
He tossed the odd button into the air.
“I suggest we fan out and do a bit more investigating.”
And so they did, searching every corner of Davaulus’s office, the ward and the entry hall. Nothing was found in any of the rooms, and they were on the edge of giving up when Ratbone decided to search the lift as well. To his shock and surprise, beneath the operating lever was a small slot, just the right size for the button. Calling his companions quickly over, he pressed the button in. The lift door began sliding shut, and all six of them crowed inside as the it began to descend. When it reached the ground floor, it did not stop, but continued downward. Michael gave Ratbone a knowing smile.
When the door finally slid open again, the companions found themselves peering into a darkened room. The scuffed stone walls had been plastered over and decorated with lurid murals of skeletons cavorting among the dead of a Korvosa completely succumbed to blood veil. Simple wooden doors led to the north, and south, each of which bore a painting of a scythe-wielding skeleton. A sizable double door stood on the east wall, made to appear in the mural as a massive set of doors opening into the pyramid foundation of Castle Korvosa. Two more scythe-wielding skeletons decorated those doors as well.
“This looks like the right place,” Valeris snickered.
Kat shushed him as Ratbone’s ears pricked up and the druid/dog padded silently to the southern door, sniffing along its bottom and tilting his head right and left. After a moment, he backed away, a low growl in his throat as he stared at the door.
“Guess that’s your cue,” Valeris whispered as he nudged Herc.
The big mercenary blew out his breath, readied his shield and shoved open the door. The small room beyond seemed to be some sort of guard chamber, and the six gray maidens who abruptly turned towards the doorway seemed less than enthusiastic to have unannounced guests. They surged forward, blades drawn. The foremost struck at Ratbone, who had joined Herc. Their cuts were deep, but didn’t compare to the ones the druid delivered in turn as he cleanly sliced their throats with his razor-sharp claws. The next two fell just as quickly when O’Reginald unleashed his trademark hail of stone upon their heads. Ratbone and Herc together slew the remaining pair, but not before one of them landed a lucky blow against Herc, lopping off the mercenary’s middle finger.
Herc cursed roundly as Michael staunched his bleeding, but could do nothing to replace his missing finger.
“Join the club,” Valeris smirked as rubbed at the place where his right ear used to be.
Michael and Herc moved towards the pair of double doors, and shoved them open as their companions grouped behind them. Suddenly, the air was filled with the shrill wail of an alarm, and the two bas relief skeletons on the portals abruptly animated, their scythes slashing down wickedly at the priest and mercenary. Simultaneously, the mouths of all the skeleton carvings in the room opened and exhaled plumes of noxious, green vapor. As the mist washed over them, nightmare images of diseased corpses flashed through the mind of the companions. It seemed as if some of the corpses were animate, shambling towards them out of the gloom. It was only when the mist had cleared that they saw that the latter part was horribly true. From the large room beyond the double doors, a dozen or more zombies and skeletons shuffled forward, moaning and clacking as they came. The ensuing battle was furious, but short-lived. The undead were no match for the power of O’Reginald’s magic and Michael’s channeling, combined with the fury of Ratbone’s and Herc’s raw might. As the last of the walking dead crumbled, Valeris shook his head.
“I guess they know we’re coming…”
The stinging scent of alcohol and medicine flooded the dingy reception room, an odor typical to hospices, morgues, and battlefields. Across from the entrance sat a long wooden desk, beyond which a stained leather curtain covered an open archway, muffling moans from beyond. A burly nurse sat at the desk, three scarves wrapped over her mouth and nose, and heavy leather gloves on her hands. A half-dozen citizens huddled in chairs and against the walls, each of them exhibiting symptoms of blood veil, some at quite advanced stages.
The nurse glanced up disinterestedly as Katarina and her companions entered, but said nothing, her eyes dropping back down to her papers.
“Excuse me,” Kat said, clearing her throat after several minutes, “but we’re here to see Dr. Davaulus.”
“Everyone is here to see the doctors,” the nurse said without looking up. “Take a seat and wait your turn.”
“I don’t think you understand,” Kat said calmly. “We work for the Guard, and we’re here on official business.”
The nurse raised her eyes and shrugged. “Sorry, can’t help you.”
“Madame,” Kat said, leaning across the desk, her voice becoming more commanding, “Dr. Davaulus personally instructed us to report to him with any information about the plague, and that’s what we’re going to do. If you interfere, and more deaths result, I’ll personally inform the Doctor of the role you played.”
The nurse’s eyes began to show just the slightest amount of concern.
“Well…,” she hesitated, “I suppose when you put it that way…but I’m not responsible if there’s any trouble in there!”
“Of course not,” Kat smiled. “Thank you for your assistance Nurse…?”
“Torthus,” the nurse replied, “Bhrunlida Torthus.”
___________________________________________________
The warehouse’s vast interior had been converted into one gigantic convalescent’s ward, the stench of alcohol, sickness, and waste choking each breath. Tight rows of low, stained cots crammed the stone-floored hall. Every bed was filled with a pitiful story…men and women of all walks groaning and wheezing as they were consumed by blood veil, their sufferings multiplied by the echoing chamber. Several queen’s physicians milled about the cots, cooing at their patients in falsely sympathetic voices, their avian masks giving them an unnerving resemblance to crows waiting to feed. A catwalk, twenty feet above, wrapped around the entire chamber, and two gray maidens paced it, while three more stood before closed doors on the far side of the ground level.
One of the gray maidens strode purposefully across the room towards the members of the K.I.A.
“You will leave this place immediately,” she commanded. “I know who you are and whom you represent, and you have no business here.”
As she spoke, the maidens on the catwalk readied their bows.
“Please,” Kat said placatingly, “you misunderstand our intentions. We have news for Dr. Davaulus. We have discovered some very vital information regarding the plague. He asked that we report to him immediately if we had such news.”
“If you have something to report,” the maiden said curtly, “then take it through proper channels. Now I tell you again, leave.”
“You don’t understand what we’ve been through,” Kat said, her tone growing hard. “We’ve uncovered a charlatan’s plot to sell a fake cure. We’ve stopped the unlawful dumping of the dead. We’ve forestalled an uprising by the wererats of the sewers, and finally, we’ve personally investigated the wreck of the plague ship and uncovered what we suspect to be the cause of blood veil. We’re not leaving until we see the Doctor.”
“Then I’m afraid you won’t be leaving at all,” the warrior said flatly as she drew her sword.
Behind her, the other two gray maidens also drew their weapons, while on the catwalk, the pair there pulled back their bows. In the mean time, while Katarina had been making her case, the physicians had been quietly repositioning themselves, and the six companions abruptly found themselves surrounded.
As Kat turned towards her friends, stars suddenly exploded behind her eyes when one of the doctors pulled a truncheon from his coat and struck her. At the same time, the gray maiden slashed viciously at Ratbone with her sword, while one of the archers fired carelessly into the melee, her shot going wide and striking one of the patients in his sick bed instead.
“No!” Ratbone cried, his words turning into a vicious snarl as his body shifted into his canine form, simultaneously sprouting two more arms. In a rage, the druid pounced on the maiden before him, bore her to the ground and savagely tore out her throat.
“Here now! What’s the meaning of all this?” The leather curtain to the waiting room was torn aside as Bhrunlida stormed in, brandishing a heavy sap in one hand. Her protestations were cut abruptly short when Herc’s shield smashed into her face, and she collapsed in a heap.
By that time, the other two gray maidens had closed the distance, and Ratbone was there to meet them, disemboweling one with a slash of his claws. Meanwhile, Valeris dispatched one of the encroaching doctors with a sizzling flash of his blade, imbued as it was with electric fire. Michael felled another with a quick thrust of his own blade, and then a third as the doctor attempted to flee. Ratbone, fully in the throes of animalistic blood lust, brutally and efficiently tore apart the last physician and gray maiden. Only the archers remained. Katarina turned her attention to them, summoning a simple charm to drop one of them into a deep slumber. Before she could do the same to the other, however, Ratbone had transformed again, taking his avian form and flying up to the catwalk. Once there, he resumed his mongrel shape and savaged the last of the gray maidens. Then, slowly, deliberately, the druid walked to stand over the sleeping warrior.
“No,” Kat whispered.
Ratbone dipped his muzzle, the image of the archer’s arrow piercing the heart of the helpless patient in the room below, and he quickly snapped the maiden’s neck.
____________________________________________________
As the rest of the group fanned out about the room, searching for possible hidden enemies, Michael went from bed to bed, giving comfort where he could, and universally promising the infirm that he and his companions would return for them after they secured the building. The remainder of the ground floor proved to be unoccupied, but a large cargo lift seemed to lead to an upper floor. The six crammed in, shifted the lever, and the lift slowly began to rise. When the door opened on the floor above, it was onto a hall in which the rough functionality of the warehouse below gave way to beige tile and white walls. A door engraved with images of rampant gazelles stood on the far end, its once fine teak bearing obvious scores and gaping chips from rough use. No sooner had the lift door opened, than three gray maidens stepped in front of it, swords bared. Unfortunately for them, Ratbone was ready as well, and the first two quickly went down in a gory pile. The third hesitated momentarily, and in that moment, Katarina acted, quickly weaving a spell that put the warrior under her thrall.
“Hold your weapons,” she said quietly to her companions, and then aloud, she addressed the maiden.
“Can you tell us where to find Dr. Davaulus?”
The gray maiden nodded towards the carved doors. “His office lies beyond,” she said.
“Is there anyone with him?” Kat asked.
“I know not,” the maiden replied. “We are charged with guarding this area. We do not go beyond the doors.”
“Do you know exactly what is going on here?” Kat asked. “Are the doctors directly involved with the plague?”
The gray maiden shrugged. “We answer to the Queen. She has commanded us to guard the physicians, and so we do. Anything else is not our concern.”
“Thank you, my friend,” Kat said. “We are going to speak with the Doctor now. Do you mind waiting here?”
The maiden nodded and took up a defensive position near the lift.
The door was securely locked, but it proved only a minor obstacle for Kat. When the door swung open, however, the scene that greeted the companions froze them momentarily in their tracks. Rows of white-sheeted beds lined the walls of the room. Each was occupied, every bed bearing a patient restrained by leather straps that bound the figure to the sturdy metal frame. At the room’s center stretched simple wooden worktables, each covered in fluid-filled beakers, intricate glass tubes, small burners and other chemical instruments. Four queen’s physicians turned from their patients in unison as the door opened, then, once more in unison, they drew their cudgels from the coats. Herc, Ratbone and Michael moved to intercept them, the druid taking his simian form as he went. The doctors tried to flank the intruders, but they might as well have been trying to contain a rushing river. The three companions were a blur as they struck, taking down the four before they could even raise their weapons.
The group began moving through the experimental ward, Michael stopping to examine each of the restrained patients. They were all unconscious, under the effects of some kind of sedative that the priest could not identify. Suddenly, a low growl came from Ratbone as his head whipped back towards the carved door. The druid’s animal forms greatly enhanced his senses, giving him an almost extra-sensory perception. Thus, when the invisible figure rushed past him, running for the lift, Ratbone saw him as a dim, blurred shape. Falling to all fours, the druid loped after the fleeing figure, and just before his quarry reached the lift, Ratbone struck out with a large, clawed paw. A man’s voice cried out in pain as blood splashed the floor. Kat turned to see what had drawn her friend’s attention. She saw the ape grappling with an unseen foe, and she passed a hand over her eyes, uttering a brief spell. When it was complete, her vision had been altered to allow her to see the unseen. She gasped as she saw that Ratbone’s foe was none other than Dr. Davaulus himself! As she watched, Ratbone folded the physician into his massive grip, and Davaulus raised his hand, a spell on his lips. As he did so, however, Ratbone squeezed, and the words to the incantation were abruptly cut off. The attempted attack, however, rendered the doctor visible.
“Release me!” Davaulus commanded. Don’t you see? Your crusade to save this city is a fool’s errand! Disease is the world’s way to bring back balance! In order for civilizations to grow and prosper, the parts of society that hold everything else back must be periodically pruned! Korvosa will be stronger at the end of these dark days…a place you and I would be proud to call home!”
Ratbone’s eyes gave the doctor all the answer he needed, and what he saw there was his own imminent death. His screams were abruptly brought to a gurgling end as the druid’s jaws closed over his throat.
_____________________________________________________
A thorough search of the good Doctor and his office turned up very little. Of note were several scattered scraps of paper speculating on the source of some Varisians' immunity to blood veil, and an odd button that was found in Davaulus’s pocket.
“So that’s it, right?” Ratbone asked. “Now we go to Cressida and tell her what’s really been going on.”
“And what is that, exactly?” Michael asked mildly.
“Come on!” the druid shouted. “It’s obvious! Davaulus and his goons have been experimenting on people, infecting them with blood veil, which, by the way, they brought here and released in the first place! Furthermore, I think the queen is in on it to!”
“Where’s your proof?” Michael asked, his voice very calm.
“What do you mean?” Ratbone asked, astonished. “It’s all around us! Just look at this place and what we’ve uncovered. They attacked us!”
“I’ll tell you what I see,” Michael said, “and what the Guard will also see: we came here unannounced and uninvited. We killed several of the queen’s physicians as well as her gray maidens. There are no reliable witnesses to say who struck first. Those poor souls in the sick bay certainly won’t make good alibis. We also killed the Queen’s Physician himself, once again with no witnesses to prove he did anything wrong. The only documentation we’ve found is that he suspected some Varisians might be immune, hence these people.” He indicated the bound, unconscious patients, all of whom just happened to be Varisian.”
“Yes, but we know!” Ratbone protested. “The doctor on the Direption! The deed naming Davaulus the owner of the ship! Urgathoa’s symbol!’
“All circumstantial,” Michael shook his head. “The defense will say that anyone could have impersonated a physician, a crime punishable by death mind you, and planted that deed to falsely incriminate Davaulus. Also, they’ll claim that he kept these Varisians here in hopes of finding a cure to blood veil. Meanwhile, we’ll be accused of outright murder, and likely face the headsman’s axe by morning.”
“What about the guard Kat charmed?” Ratbone asked, his voice growing desperate. “She can attest to what Davaulus told me!”
“The charm won’t last,” Kat said. “She’ll be out from under its influence within hours. Speaking of which…,”
Kat turned to their erstwhile ally and spoke another spell, causing the gray maiden to fall into a magically induced sleep. The beguiler then set about binding her tightly.
“This isn’t right!” Ratbone fumed. “We know the truth, and yet you’re saying there’s nothing we can do about it??”
“There may still be more here,” Michael said calmly. “For instance, what’s this go to?”
He tossed the odd button into the air.
“I suggest we fan out and do a bit more investigating.”
And so they did, searching every corner of Davaulus’s office, the ward and the entry hall. Nothing was found in any of the rooms, and they were on the edge of giving up when Ratbone decided to search the lift as well. To his shock and surprise, beneath the operating lever was a small slot, just the right size for the button. Calling his companions quickly over, he pressed the button in. The lift door began sliding shut, and all six of them crowed inside as the it began to descend. When it reached the ground floor, it did not stop, but continued downward. Michael gave Ratbone a knowing smile.
When the door finally slid open again, the companions found themselves peering into a darkened room. The scuffed stone walls had been plastered over and decorated with lurid murals of skeletons cavorting among the dead of a Korvosa completely succumbed to blood veil. Simple wooden doors led to the north, and south, each of which bore a painting of a scythe-wielding skeleton. A sizable double door stood on the east wall, made to appear in the mural as a massive set of doors opening into the pyramid foundation of Castle Korvosa. Two more scythe-wielding skeletons decorated those doors as well.
“This looks like the right place,” Valeris snickered.
Kat shushed him as Ratbone’s ears pricked up and the druid/dog padded silently to the southern door, sniffing along its bottom and tilting his head right and left. After a moment, he backed away, a low growl in his throat as he stared at the door.
“Guess that’s your cue,” Valeris whispered as he nudged Herc.
The big mercenary blew out his breath, readied his shield and shoved open the door. The small room beyond seemed to be some sort of guard chamber, and the six gray maidens who abruptly turned towards the doorway seemed less than enthusiastic to have unannounced guests. They surged forward, blades drawn. The foremost struck at Ratbone, who had joined Herc. Their cuts were deep, but didn’t compare to the ones the druid delivered in turn as he cleanly sliced their throats with his razor-sharp claws. The next two fell just as quickly when O’Reginald unleashed his trademark hail of stone upon their heads. Ratbone and Herc together slew the remaining pair, but not before one of them landed a lucky blow against Herc, lopping off the mercenary’s middle finger.
Herc cursed roundly as Michael staunched his bleeding, but could do nothing to replace his missing finger.
“Join the club,” Valeris smirked as rubbed at the place where his right ear used to be.
Michael and Herc moved towards the pair of double doors, and shoved them open as their companions grouped behind them. Suddenly, the air was filled with the shrill wail of an alarm, and the two bas relief skeletons on the portals abruptly animated, their scythes slashing down wickedly at the priest and mercenary. Simultaneously, the mouths of all the skeleton carvings in the room opened and exhaled plumes of noxious, green vapor. As the mist washed over them, nightmare images of diseased corpses flashed through the mind of the companions. It seemed as if some of the corpses were animate, shambling towards them out of the gloom. It was only when the mist had cleared that they saw that the latter part was horribly true. From the large room beyond the double doors, a dozen or more zombies and skeletons shuffled forward, moaning and clacking as they came. The ensuing battle was furious, but short-lived. The undead were no match for the power of O’Reginald’s magic and Michael’s channeling, combined with the fury of Ratbone’s and Herc’s raw might. As the last of the walking dead crumbled, Valeris shook his head.
“I guess they know we’re coming…”
Neverwinter Knight
First Post
Awesome read, JollyDoc. Is the K.I.A. really this good in game? If so, are you adjusting the modules?
JollyDoc
Explorer
They are pretty good. I am increasing the number of unnamed creatures based on them having six characters instead of 4. By the end of tonight, however (they completed 7 Days to Grave tonight), they were in dire straits...Ratbone had 4 hp, Valeris had 5, all casters were out of spells, Herc was forced to retreat from combat. So, even though they're good, they can still be challenged and pushed to their limits.
demiurge1138
Inventor of Super-Toast
This does not surprise me--the end of Seven Days is brutal
JollyDoc
Explorer
Even though the group, wisely, avoided one potentially TPK'ing encounter...
Joachim
First Post
I think that we did well considering all that was accomplished on one day's worth of rest/spells, and no cleric (player MIA) for the more brutal half. Pretty darn well, as a matter of fact.
Last round of combat was a coin toss. Either it was going to die, or we all were.
JollyDoc
Explorer
PAWNS OF THE PALLID PRINCESS
It was only after the last of the undead fell that the heroes had a chance to examine their current surroundings…and were overwhelmed with revulsion. Dozens of the living dead lined the walls of the chamber, their rotting faces sneered and broken fingers clawed at each other. A layer of rotting bodies lined the floor, and the shattered bones twitched in vain, their splintered appendages grasping hopelessly. Yet, rather than some massive, nightmare grave, the horror show seemed instead to be a stomach-churning attempt at art, as the mangled living dead lay trapped behind walls and beneath a floor of thick glass.
“The Princess’s Bacchanal,” Michael said solemnly.
“What?” Valeris asked.
“They’re common in temples of Urgathoa,” the priest explained. “They’re meant to deliver a profane message to the faithful…in the end may you be undead.”
“Where do I sign up?” the duskblade chuckled.
“Careful what you wish for,” Ratbone muttered.
Another large pair of double doors stood on the far side of the morbid chamber, but two smaller doors led to the north and south. Through the first of these, the company found what seemed to be a barracks, though the satin coverings and overstuffed pillows on the cots seemed more akin to funerary trappings than the resting places of the living. It was strangely unoccupied. The door on the far side of the bacchanal, however, led to something far more disturbing. Eight cold, iron beds stood there, their sharp frames threaded with worn manacles and stained leather traps. Several were occupied by obviously unwilling patients, each bound and in various states of consciousness, and their combined moans murmured throughout the room. Between them stood several small tables, each strewn with gore-soaked pans, flasks of mysterious fluids, and all manner of cruel-looking cutting instruments. A sizable brown-crimson stain covered much of the eastern wall, as if all the blood from a body once held there had exploded forth in a single violent eruption. One of the patients was obviously dead, his body showing signs of advanced blood veil. Two others faded in and out of consciousness, obviously wracked by the disease as well, they coughed violently and whimpered through their restless fever dreams. The other three bodies seemed trapped somewhere between life and death, and they twitched feebly, their flesh grey and dried like parchment. Ratbone leaned over one of the living victims, and then fished a potion flask from his belt, which he quickly poured down the man’s throat.
“What was that?” O’Reginald asked suspiciously.
“One of the draughts that Ishani gave us,” the druid replied. “The ones that remove disease.”
“Don’t you think we might need those?” the sorcerer asked. “What if we get exposed?”
“These people are already exposed, and dying,” Ratbone said, a hint of anger in his voice. “They need this more than we do.”
On the far side of the operating theatre was a heavy, wooden door. Beyond it was a short hall. Iron doors with slotted windows, much like might be found in a prison or asylum, lined the walls. Faint bloodstains flecked the straw-strewn flagstones. Kat crept quietly to one of the doors and slid the window aside. Within, she saw a bedraggled looking Varisian woman huddled in a corner, terror in her eyes.
“Don’t worry,” Kat said in the Varisian dialect. “We’re here to help you.”
The woman’s eyes widened in disbelief and guarded hope.
“Who are you?” she asked.
“I’m Katarina, and my companions and I work for the Guard. Who holds the keys to your cells?”
“The priests,” the woman said, her voice quavering.
“The doors are too stout for us to batter down,” Kat said. “Do not despair. We will return for you and the others when we have dealt with these devils.”
“No! Wait! Come back! Don’t leave us!” the woman wailed as Kat turned away. Tears squeezed from the corner of the beguiler’s eyes as she led her friends out of the cell block.
______________________________________________________
When they finally breached the double doors on the far side of the bacchanal, the companions were momentarily stunned by what they saw. The stinging scent of harsh chemicals choked the high-ceilinged chamber. Three huge metal vats bubbled there, each more than six feet tall. A sturdy series of catwalks ten feet off the ground stretched over and around the vats, which allowed those above to attend whatever slurry produced the foul green-brown mist that emanated from each gigantic vessel. Circling the upper portion of the room was an elaborate mosaic of white, black and green stone that depicted a giant half-corpse woman in black veils dancing among fields of the dead, undead and dying. Yet it was not this that stopped the heroes in their tracks, but instead was the small army of queen’s physicians and black clad priests, each bearing the symbol of Urgathoa, that stood arrayed before the doors waiting, for them. Standing above them all was a balding man, pale and blotchy, dressed in thick leather robes lined with dozens of pockets that bulged with surgical and mortician tools.
“You!” he shrieked. “Vandals! Crooks! Thugs! You destroyed my laboratory beneath the Dead Warrens! Do you have any idea how much of my research you ruined, or how long it’s going to take me to replace those derro? Oh, you are going to pay dearly for that!”
“You must be Rolth, I presume?” Kat replied. “We’re sorry we missed you before. We so very much wanted to make your acquaintance.”
“Kill them!” Rolth shrilled.
Things happened very quickly after that. As the evil doctors and priests began to close, Ratbone’s body shifted into his avian form, and he took flight, winging his way up to Rolth. As he lifted off, Katarina quickly placed a spell around him, cloaking him in a layer of silence, knowing that would take away the necromancer’s greatest advantage. Meanwhile, Herc and Valeris moved forward to engage the minions, each of them quickly dispatching one of the doctors. O’Reginald’s approach was much flashier, and more than effective. The sorcerer unleashed a cone of flame that stretched the length of the room. Priests and doctors alike dove for cover, but two of the physicians were engulfed completely, and a number of the cultists were badly burned.
When Ratbone landed atop the catwalk, Rolth was taken aback at the sudden silence that enveloped him, but the necromancer was not caught entirely unprepared. A spectral, disembodied hand appeared from over his shoulder and reached out to touch the druid. Ratbone shrieked silently as he felt the cold of the grave run through his body. At the same time, Rolth’s face flushed with the life force he had siphoned from the half-orc. He then turned and ran along the catwalk, desperate to escape the spell that suppressed his casting. Snarling, Ratbone shifted into his canine form and dashed after him, gaining ground easily. When he was still several yards away, he leaped and landed on the necromancer’s back, bearing him down to the metal walkway.
Suddenly, another blast of fire filled this room, this time sculpted into four large cubes that instantly snuffed out the lives another doctor and three of the priests as well. O’Reginald exulted in his power, but just as quickly, his face blanched as a priest rushed him, brandishing a wicked-looking scythe. The blade slashed through the sorcerer’s robes and deep into his skin. Pain flared through O’Reginald’s body, and then, to his horror, his flesh began erupting in painful, red blisters…the tell-tale signs of blood veil!
Ratbone and Rolth rolled and wrestled on the floor, the necromancer struggling desperately to escape. He reached out and grabbed the druid’s neck, and once more cold fire bloomed in Ratbone’s head, though mercifully, he did not feel as drained as he had from the first attack. Still, in his pain, he momentarily loosened his grip, and Rolth wriggled out of his grasp. As the necromancer struggled to his feet, however, the druid clamped his jaws savagely around his thigh. Gritting his teeth, Rolth threw himself over the railing of the catwalk. He landed badly, and before he could get up, Ratbone was upon him again. That time when the druid bit down, golden ice formed around the wound in Rolth’s arm, and the wizard felt all of his muscles go limp. Yet still, he managed to find the strength to kick out at the huge dog and scramble for freedom once more. Within a few strides, he once more heard the noise of battle around him, and knew that his spells would serve him again. He spoke one word, and vanished in a flash of bright light, making good his escape. Ratbone howled in fury, though no one could hear him. He looked around for something to sate his bloodlust, only to see the last of the priests fall before Herc and Valeris.
_______________________________________________________
“Does anyone know what this crap is?” Valeris asked as he peered at the sludge bubbling in one of the vats.
“At a guess?” Michael replied as he tended to O’Reginald. “Raw blood veil. The priests’ scythes are coated with it. Nasty trick. Fortunately, we still have one of the curative draughts.”
“Yeah, fortunate,” O’Reginald glared over the lip of the flask at Ratbone as he quaffed it.
“Where do you think the wizard went?” Herc asked as he methodically stuck his sword into each of the corpses, making sure they were dead.
“No telling,” Kat shrugged. “That was a dimensional portal he created. It could have taken him almost anywhere in the city. We can’t worry about him now. If I were him, I’d lay low for a long time.”
Several doors led from the chamber. Two led to empty storage rooms, while a third was locked tight. Katarina removed her picks and went to work on the mechanism. She was rewarded with a satisfying click less than two minutes later. The room beyond was relatively small. An elegant operating table dominated the center of the grim laboratory. Crossed with iron restraints and encircled by a gore-encrusted gutter, the macabre device sprouted various cranks and levers, and was large enough to accommodate an ogre. Along the walls stood several tables strewn with all manner of alchemical accoutrements, their contents appearing old in the extreme, with rusted iron tools, beakers of purpled glass, and deep pools of wax from countless melted candles. A young and unconscious man, barely older than twenty winters, lay upon the table, bound by its heavy restraints. His face matched the description of Ruan. Intense and pale as death, a somberly dressed man stood rigidly on the opposite side of the table, his arms crossed over his chest, his eyes wide and intense, and his nose wrinkled in an expression of extreme distaste. Yellow teeth bared, his overly large incisors jutted forward, not like those of a man, but of a filth-hungry vermin.
“And what, pray tell, can I do for you?” the creature asked disdainfully.
“Who are you?” Kat asked. “Are you behind all this? Did you create the plague?”
“I am Ramoska Arkminos,” the other replied, “and this…plague you refer to is not my doing. I have my own research.”
“Yeah, well your so-called research involves a friend of ours there,” Valeris growled, nodding towards Ruan.
“This boy?” Ramoska asked, arching one eyebrow. “Pity. He was showing promise. Still, I have no quarrel with you people, and since you seem to be undoing the Urgathoans’ little scheme, there’s little reason for me to remain in this cesspool. If he means that much to you, I’ll sell you the boy for two-thousand gold crowns.”
“What??” Valeris was incensed. “How about we just take him and whatever else you’ve got laying around here?”
He stepped forward, and Ramoska tensed slightly, his fingers barely twitching.
“No!” Kat hissed as she grabbed Valeris by the arm. “I think he’s telling the truth,” she whispered to the duskblade. “Our resources are stretched thin already. We don’t need to invite trouble, especially if we still haven’t met who’s really behind this!”
“I agree,” Ratbone said, once more in his normal form. “We came for Ruan. He’s agreed to hand him over and leave. That’s good enough.”
“Hand him over,” Valeris sneered. “For two-thousand gold! That’s hardly a bargain.”
Kat turned back to Ramoska. “We have a counter proposal. One-thousand coins, and we leave you in peace, no questions asked.”
Ramoska pondered for several moments, and then nodded once. “Agreed.”
_____________________________________________________
Ramoska released Ruan and revived him before turning him over to the companions. The boy was confused and disoriented. He remembered very little beyond his ordeal at Carowyn Manor, and was just anxious to get back to his sister. Katarina instructed him to await their return while they pressed on, or if they did not return, she told him how to make his way out and contact Ishani.
On the far side of the room containing the huge vats, on the same level as the catwalk, were two more doors, both in the same wall. With no other obvious choices, the group opened the first of the pair. The reek of burning wax wafted out of the morbid chamber beyond. Several tall, misshapen candles seemed to be the apparent source. Workspaces strewn with tall beakers of foul-colored liquids, parchments covered in insidious symbols, and cages of whimpering rodents filled large alcoves in both the northern and southern walls. A pair of huge stone doors hung ajar to the east, revealing a long hallway that led further into the dark. At the room’s center stood four large, cylindrical glass vats, each filled with a bubbling emerald fluid that tinted the chamber’s light a noxious green. Within each suspension floated a malformed abomination…something part man, part angel, and part horse…things of half-formed muscle with dead, fleshless equine skulls. Three of the forms were motionless and still, but the fourth twitched now and then with life. Fanned out around the periphery of the large chamber were no-fewer-than ten Urgathoan priests, each armed with a large, dripping scythe.
“Here we go again,” O’Reginald muttered.
The companions rushed into the room before the approaching priests could bottleneck them at the door. Herc and Valeris stood back-to-back, blades flashing, and two of the cultists quickly fell before them. A third slashed at O’Reginald, but the poisonous scythe blade merely tore the sorcerer’s sleeve. Cursing, O’Reginald quickly conjured a shower of falling stones, crushing the priest and one of his brethren beneath them. Two more went down beneath Ratbone’s snapping jaws and Herc’s shield. The four remaining quickly fell back before the onslaught, gathering around one of the large cylinders…the one that contained the still-moving horror. In unison, they raised their scythes and smashed the glass. The viscous fluid flooded across the floor, and a jade mist momentarily obscured the scene. When it cleared, however, the six heroes wished that they could have remained ignorant of what had been unleashed.
“Save and preserve us,” Michael whispered, clutching his holy symbol. “It’s a leukodaemon.”
“A what?” Kat asked.
“A harbinger of plagues and disease,” Michael said. “They serve Apollyon, the Horseman of Pestilence. We may not survive this…”
The four priests fell to their knees, prostrating themselves before the outsider’s awesome presence. Their reward was death, as the mighty daemon fell upon them with savage fury, tearing them limb-from-limb in a span of seconds. While it was thus occupied, Ratbone, Valeris and Herc charged forward, surrounding the fiend on three sides. Ratbone quickly darted in, biting viciously at its leg, but the druid’s razor-sharp fangs barely pierced the otherworldly flesh. Still, where they did, a thin rime of gold-flecked ice appeared, and the daemon roared in fury. Turning, it opened its mouth and spewed forth what looked like a cloud of thousands of corpse-bloated, biting black flies. Ratbone quickly darted to the side, but Valeris was not so fast. He flailed and beat about his head as the insects bit at his exposed flesh. He swung his sword wildly, striking the daemon with a lucky blow. Then, however, he doubled over as the sickening smell and the nauseating drone of the rapidly spreading cloud of flies caused his gorge to rise and his bowels to rebel. A moment later, Herc was overcome as well. The leukodaemon roared again, and lunged for the helpless pair. Its claws ripped and its teeth tore at the warriors. All they could do was back away under its merciless assault. Then Ratbone was there, interposing himself between the fiend and his friends. The druid sprang in, biting and snapping when he could find the opportunity, before springing away again. Still, he was not fast enough. For every small wound he inflicted on the daemon, it bloodied him twice. Inevitably, he felt himself weakening, but he knew that he would not give ground. He would stop the creature or die trying. Suddenly, to his astonishment and gratitude, it began to rain stone in the center of the chamber. Again, and again, the fist-sized rocks fell from thin air, pelting and hammering the daemon. It screeched in impotent rage as it tried in vain to avoid the deluge, and all the while Ratbone kept up his assault. Finally, with one last bellow, the fiend collapsed under the barrage, and Ratbone rushed forward and seized its skull in his jaws, crushing it with his vice-like bite.
____________________________________________________
The companions of the K.I.A. thought that they must be closing in on the power behind the cult of Urgathoa, judging by the increasing resistance they had been meeting. They were quiet and somber after the battle with the leukodaemon. Michael had healed their wounds, but their morale was low. They knew that it was very likely some or all of them might not return from their mission.
The long hall they’d been walking down abruptly opened into a circular chamber which rose into a high dome. Seven basins jutted from the walls, ensconced within evenly spaced alcoves that circled the room. Each was filled to the brim with a unique liquid corruption…blood, bile, milk, or other unidentifiable fluid. Each filled the air with its own distinct reek that created a noxious, eye-watering bouquet. Upon the floor around each basin lay several small, empty metal boxes, each carved with images of skulls. At the room’s center, rising from a wide pool of crystalline water, stood a golden statue of a sight both erotic and horrifying. The statue was that of a beautiful nude woman, human above the waist, but below it was nothing more than a skeleton. Standing beside the statue was a darkly beautiful woman. Her pale white face was framed by a mane of jet-black hair. She wore a flatteringly sculpted breastplate beneath her revealing robes, and she carried a particularly vicious-looking scythe in her hands.
“And so you have found your way to me, hopeful heroes,” she said in a cold, lilting voice. “Know that you stand before the Lady Andaisin, architect of your city’s death. You call this sending blood veil, yet I know it as the gentle kiss of the Pallid Princess. Your reward shall be great…choose of the seven scourges to become one with the goddess. Those who drink, I shall only cripple, leaving you alive to enjoy her as she quickens inside your flesh. Those who abstain are fools, not fit to house the divine gift. You may prostrate yourselves at my feet and I shall make your end all the more swift for it. Swifter, in any event, than this delightful end your lovely queen has enjoined me to create!”
That was all Ratbone needed to hear. Crouching, he launched himself at the priestess, yet as he charged, Katarina once again cloaked him in a shroud of magical silence. Andaisin’s face registered shocked outrage when she realized what had happened. Her dismay only grew when the druid latched onto her leg with his jaws, coating her from knee to ankle in a sheen of glimmering ice. A half-second behind Ratbone, Herc lowered his shield and slammed into the priestess with all his strength, driving her back into the fountain. As she struck the marble, something in her spine cracked and she collapsed to the floor. She struggled to regain her feet, but Herc smashed her again with his shield, sending her sprawling once more. Hissing silently through clenched teeth, she swung her scythe in a low arc, catching the mercenary across his legs, opening savagely gaping wounds. At the same time, a jagged cut suddenly appeared on her own leg, but she seemed not to notice the pain. What she did notice, however, was Ratbone bearing down on her. The druid’s jaws stretched wide as he closed them around her throat, tearing at her abdomen with his claws as he disemboweled her.
Just like that, it was over. For a moment, the heroes were stunned. That was it? After all they’d been through, their quest was over? They turned to one another, disbelief and questioning in their eyes. Suddenly, the faces of Michael, O’Reginald and Kat turned pale. Behind Ratbone, Valeris and Herc, something was happening to Andaisin’s body. It crackled with black energy as it rose slowly into the air. The three warriors turned slowly, their mouths slack. Then, without warning, Andaisin’s sundered flesh exploded with boils and pustules, while torrents of foul humors flooded forth and congealed into a sickening new body. What had just moments ago been a woman, now towered as a monstrosity of exposed muscle, twisting marrow, and hellish majesty. Flesh worn like a tattered gown and bone warped into gruesome weapons, her rent gut spilled a wave of hardened fluids, dried bowels, and supremely powerful muscles into a single tentacle-tail, propelling the feminine horror forward.
One of her hands had become fused into the shape of a fleshy scythe, and this she swung at Herc, opening a large gash in the merc’s chest. When Ratbone leaped for her, she backhanded the dog-druid with her other hand, and where her flesh touched his, the druid’s skin erupted in blood veil pox. Still, Ratbone bit at her with his snapping fangs before he dropped back to the ground below. He gathered himself to leap again, for now the thing that had been Andaisin hovered ten-feet above him and his companions, out of reach of their weapons. At that moment, however, he felt a wave of magic wash over him, and before he knew it, his canine body had doubled in size. He stood at eye-level with the undead abomination, and silently he thanked O’Reginald for his timely assistance. The Daughter of Urgathoa fixed him with her baleful gaze, but it was Valeris she turned her wrath upon as the duskblade leaped at her, his hands crackling with electricity. Andaisin slashed at him with her claws, at the same time swatting him aside like an insect with her muscular tail. Valeris landed in a heap against a far wall and did not rise again. The arena around them now clear, she then turned her attention back to Ratbone. They circled each other, each feinting and striking, back and forth, again and again. Yet the druid’s companions could tell it would only be a matter of time. Though his teeth and claws took their toll, Andaisin’s own weapons left his flesh hanging in tatters, blood flowing freely from his many wounds. He could not last much longer, and so Herc and O’Reginald took matters into their own hands. The big mercenary quickly strung the bow that hung at his back and began loosing arrow after arrow at the unholy saint, while at the same time, O’Reginald hurled volley after volley of arcane bolts. Slowly, the tide began to turn, and as Andaisin recoiled from yet another barrage of magic missiles, Ratbone seized her with all four of his upper claws, holding her tight against him as he savaged her with his fangs. Though she struggled mightily, and the wounds she inflicted were horrendous, ultimately, the Daughter of Urgathoa failed, her body going limp before returning once more to its natural state, once again, quite dead.
It was only after the last of the undead fell that the heroes had a chance to examine their current surroundings…and were overwhelmed with revulsion. Dozens of the living dead lined the walls of the chamber, their rotting faces sneered and broken fingers clawed at each other. A layer of rotting bodies lined the floor, and the shattered bones twitched in vain, their splintered appendages grasping hopelessly. Yet, rather than some massive, nightmare grave, the horror show seemed instead to be a stomach-churning attempt at art, as the mangled living dead lay trapped behind walls and beneath a floor of thick glass.
“The Princess’s Bacchanal,” Michael said solemnly.
“What?” Valeris asked.
“They’re common in temples of Urgathoa,” the priest explained. “They’re meant to deliver a profane message to the faithful…in the end may you be undead.”
“Where do I sign up?” the duskblade chuckled.
“Careful what you wish for,” Ratbone muttered.
Another large pair of double doors stood on the far side of the morbid chamber, but two smaller doors led to the north and south. Through the first of these, the company found what seemed to be a barracks, though the satin coverings and overstuffed pillows on the cots seemed more akin to funerary trappings than the resting places of the living. It was strangely unoccupied. The door on the far side of the bacchanal, however, led to something far more disturbing. Eight cold, iron beds stood there, their sharp frames threaded with worn manacles and stained leather traps. Several were occupied by obviously unwilling patients, each bound and in various states of consciousness, and their combined moans murmured throughout the room. Between them stood several small tables, each strewn with gore-soaked pans, flasks of mysterious fluids, and all manner of cruel-looking cutting instruments. A sizable brown-crimson stain covered much of the eastern wall, as if all the blood from a body once held there had exploded forth in a single violent eruption. One of the patients was obviously dead, his body showing signs of advanced blood veil. Two others faded in and out of consciousness, obviously wracked by the disease as well, they coughed violently and whimpered through their restless fever dreams. The other three bodies seemed trapped somewhere between life and death, and they twitched feebly, their flesh grey and dried like parchment. Ratbone leaned over one of the living victims, and then fished a potion flask from his belt, which he quickly poured down the man’s throat.
“What was that?” O’Reginald asked suspiciously.
“One of the draughts that Ishani gave us,” the druid replied. “The ones that remove disease.”
“Don’t you think we might need those?” the sorcerer asked. “What if we get exposed?”
“These people are already exposed, and dying,” Ratbone said, a hint of anger in his voice. “They need this more than we do.”
On the far side of the operating theatre was a heavy, wooden door. Beyond it was a short hall. Iron doors with slotted windows, much like might be found in a prison or asylum, lined the walls. Faint bloodstains flecked the straw-strewn flagstones. Kat crept quietly to one of the doors and slid the window aside. Within, she saw a bedraggled looking Varisian woman huddled in a corner, terror in her eyes.
“Don’t worry,” Kat said in the Varisian dialect. “We’re here to help you.”
The woman’s eyes widened in disbelief and guarded hope.
“Who are you?” she asked.
“I’m Katarina, and my companions and I work for the Guard. Who holds the keys to your cells?”
“The priests,” the woman said, her voice quavering.
“The doors are too stout for us to batter down,” Kat said. “Do not despair. We will return for you and the others when we have dealt with these devils.”
“No! Wait! Come back! Don’t leave us!” the woman wailed as Kat turned away. Tears squeezed from the corner of the beguiler’s eyes as she led her friends out of the cell block.
______________________________________________________
When they finally breached the double doors on the far side of the bacchanal, the companions were momentarily stunned by what they saw. The stinging scent of harsh chemicals choked the high-ceilinged chamber. Three huge metal vats bubbled there, each more than six feet tall. A sturdy series of catwalks ten feet off the ground stretched over and around the vats, which allowed those above to attend whatever slurry produced the foul green-brown mist that emanated from each gigantic vessel. Circling the upper portion of the room was an elaborate mosaic of white, black and green stone that depicted a giant half-corpse woman in black veils dancing among fields of the dead, undead and dying. Yet it was not this that stopped the heroes in their tracks, but instead was the small army of queen’s physicians and black clad priests, each bearing the symbol of Urgathoa, that stood arrayed before the doors waiting, for them. Standing above them all was a balding man, pale and blotchy, dressed in thick leather robes lined with dozens of pockets that bulged with surgical and mortician tools.
“You!” he shrieked. “Vandals! Crooks! Thugs! You destroyed my laboratory beneath the Dead Warrens! Do you have any idea how much of my research you ruined, or how long it’s going to take me to replace those derro? Oh, you are going to pay dearly for that!”
“You must be Rolth, I presume?” Kat replied. “We’re sorry we missed you before. We so very much wanted to make your acquaintance.”
“Kill them!” Rolth shrilled.
Things happened very quickly after that. As the evil doctors and priests began to close, Ratbone’s body shifted into his avian form, and he took flight, winging his way up to Rolth. As he lifted off, Katarina quickly placed a spell around him, cloaking him in a layer of silence, knowing that would take away the necromancer’s greatest advantage. Meanwhile, Herc and Valeris moved forward to engage the minions, each of them quickly dispatching one of the doctors. O’Reginald’s approach was much flashier, and more than effective. The sorcerer unleashed a cone of flame that stretched the length of the room. Priests and doctors alike dove for cover, but two of the physicians were engulfed completely, and a number of the cultists were badly burned.
When Ratbone landed atop the catwalk, Rolth was taken aback at the sudden silence that enveloped him, but the necromancer was not caught entirely unprepared. A spectral, disembodied hand appeared from over his shoulder and reached out to touch the druid. Ratbone shrieked silently as he felt the cold of the grave run through his body. At the same time, Rolth’s face flushed with the life force he had siphoned from the half-orc. He then turned and ran along the catwalk, desperate to escape the spell that suppressed his casting. Snarling, Ratbone shifted into his canine form and dashed after him, gaining ground easily. When he was still several yards away, he leaped and landed on the necromancer’s back, bearing him down to the metal walkway.
Suddenly, another blast of fire filled this room, this time sculpted into four large cubes that instantly snuffed out the lives another doctor and three of the priests as well. O’Reginald exulted in his power, but just as quickly, his face blanched as a priest rushed him, brandishing a wicked-looking scythe. The blade slashed through the sorcerer’s robes and deep into his skin. Pain flared through O’Reginald’s body, and then, to his horror, his flesh began erupting in painful, red blisters…the tell-tale signs of blood veil!
Ratbone and Rolth rolled and wrestled on the floor, the necromancer struggling desperately to escape. He reached out and grabbed the druid’s neck, and once more cold fire bloomed in Ratbone’s head, though mercifully, he did not feel as drained as he had from the first attack. Still, in his pain, he momentarily loosened his grip, and Rolth wriggled out of his grasp. As the necromancer struggled to his feet, however, the druid clamped his jaws savagely around his thigh. Gritting his teeth, Rolth threw himself over the railing of the catwalk. He landed badly, and before he could get up, Ratbone was upon him again. That time when the druid bit down, golden ice formed around the wound in Rolth’s arm, and the wizard felt all of his muscles go limp. Yet still, he managed to find the strength to kick out at the huge dog and scramble for freedom once more. Within a few strides, he once more heard the noise of battle around him, and knew that his spells would serve him again. He spoke one word, and vanished in a flash of bright light, making good his escape. Ratbone howled in fury, though no one could hear him. He looked around for something to sate his bloodlust, only to see the last of the priests fall before Herc and Valeris.
_______________________________________________________
“Does anyone know what this crap is?” Valeris asked as he peered at the sludge bubbling in one of the vats.
“At a guess?” Michael replied as he tended to O’Reginald. “Raw blood veil. The priests’ scythes are coated with it. Nasty trick. Fortunately, we still have one of the curative draughts.”
“Yeah, fortunate,” O’Reginald glared over the lip of the flask at Ratbone as he quaffed it.
“Where do you think the wizard went?” Herc asked as he methodically stuck his sword into each of the corpses, making sure they were dead.
“No telling,” Kat shrugged. “That was a dimensional portal he created. It could have taken him almost anywhere in the city. We can’t worry about him now. If I were him, I’d lay low for a long time.”
Several doors led from the chamber. Two led to empty storage rooms, while a third was locked tight. Katarina removed her picks and went to work on the mechanism. She was rewarded with a satisfying click less than two minutes later. The room beyond was relatively small. An elegant operating table dominated the center of the grim laboratory. Crossed with iron restraints and encircled by a gore-encrusted gutter, the macabre device sprouted various cranks and levers, and was large enough to accommodate an ogre. Along the walls stood several tables strewn with all manner of alchemical accoutrements, their contents appearing old in the extreme, with rusted iron tools, beakers of purpled glass, and deep pools of wax from countless melted candles. A young and unconscious man, barely older than twenty winters, lay upon the table, bound by its heavy restraints. His face matched the description of Ruan. Intense and pale as death, a somberly dressed man stood rigidly on the opposite side of the table, his arms crossed over his chest, his eyes wide and intense, and his nose wrinkled in an expression of extreme distaste. Yellow teeth bared, his overly large incisors jutted forward, not like those of a man, but of a filth-hungry vermin.
“And what, pray tell, can I do for you?” the creature asked disdainfully.
“Who are you?” Kat asked. “Are you behind all this? Did you create the plague?”
“I am Ramoska Arkminos,” the other replied, “and this…plague you refer to is not my doing. I have my own research.”
“Yeah, well your so-called research involves a friend of ours there,” Valeris growled, nodding towards Ruan.
“This boy?” Ramoska asked, arching one eyebrow. “Pity. He was showing promise. Still, I have no quarrel with you people, and since you seem to be undoing the Urgathoans’ little scheme, there’s little reason for me to remain in this cesspool. If he means that much to you, I’ll sell you the boy for two-thousand gold crowns.”
“What??” Valeris was incensed. “How about we just take him and whatever else you’ve got laying around here?”
He stepped forward, and Ramoska tensed slightly, his fingers barely twitching.
“No!” Kat hissed as she grabbed Valeris by the arm. “I think he’s telling the truth,” she whispered to the duskblade. “Our resources are stretched thin already. We don’t need to invite trouble, especially if we still haven’t met who’s really behind this!”
“I agree,” Ratbone said, once more in his normal form. “We came for Ruan. He’s agreed to hand him over and leave. That’s good enough.”
“Hand him over,” Valeris sneered. “For two-thousand gold! That’s hardly a bargain.”
Kat turned back to Ramoska. “We have a counter proposal. One-thousand coins, and we leave you in peace, no questions asked.”
Ramoska pondered for several moments, and then nodded once. “Agreed.”
_____________________________________________________
Ramoska released Ruan and revived him before turning him over to the companions. The boy was confused and disoriented. He remembered very little beyond his ordeal at Carowyn Manor, and was just anxious to get back to his sister. Katarina instructed him to await their return while they pressed on, or if they did not return, she told him how to make his way out and contact Ishani.
On the far side of the room containing the huge vats, on the same level as the catwalk, were two more doors, both in the same wall. With no other obvious choices, the group opened the first of the pair. The reek of burning wax wafted out of the morbid chamber beyond. Several tall, misshapen candles seemed to be the apparent source. Workspaces strewn with tall beakers of foul-colored liquids, parchments covered in insidious symbols, and cages of whimpering rodents filled large alcoves in both the northern and southern walls. A pair of huge stone doors hung ajar to the east, revealing a long hallway that led further into the dark. At the room’s center stood four large, cylindrical glass vats, each filled with a bubbling emerald fluid that tinted the chamber’s light a noxious green. Within each suspension floated a malformed abomination…something part man, part angel, and part horse…things of half-formed muscle with dead, fleshless equine skulls. Three of the forms were motionless and still, but the fourth twitched now and then with life. Fanned out around the periphery of the large chamber were no-fewer-than ten Urgathoan priests, each armed with a large, dripping scythe.
“Here we go again,” O’Reginald muttered.
The companions rushed into the room before the approaching priests could bottleneck them at the door. Herc and Valeris stood back-to-back, blades flashing, and two of the cultists quickly fell before them. A third slashed at O’Reginald, but the poisonous scythe blade merely tore the sorcerer’s sleeve. Cursing, O’Reginald quickly conjured a shower of falling stones, crushing the priest and one of his brethren beneath them. Two more went down beneath Ratbone’s snapping jaws and Herc’s shield. The four remaining quickly fell back before the onslaught, gathering around one of the large cylinders…the one that contained the still-moving horror. In unison, they raised their scythes and smashed the glass. The viscous fluid flooded across the floor, and a jade mist momentarily obscured the scene. When it cleared, however, the six heroes wished that they could have remained ignorant of what had been unleashed.
“Save and preserve us,” Michael whispered, clutching his holy symbol. “It’s a leukodaemon.”
“A what?” Kat asked.
“A harbinger of plagues and disease,” Michael said. “They serve Apollyon, the Horseman of Pestilence. We may not survive this…”
The four priests fell to their knees, prostrating themselves before the outsider’s awesome presence. Their reward was death, as the mighty daemon fell upon them with savage fury, tearing them limb-from-limb in a span of seconds. While it was thus occupied, Ratbone, Valeris and Herc charged forward, surrounding the fiend on three sides. Ratbone quickly darted in, biting viciously at its leg, but the druid’s razor-sharp fangs barely pierced the otherworldly flesh. Still, where they did, a thin rime of gold-flecked ice appeared, and the daemon roared in fury. Turning, it opened its mouth and spewed forth what looked like a cloud of thousands of corpse-bloated, biting black flies. Ratbone quickly darted to the side, but Valeris was not so fast. He flailed and beat about his head as the insects bit at his exposed flesh. He swung his sword wildly, striking the daemon with a lucky blow. Then, however, he doubled over as the sickening smell and the nauseating drone of the rapidly spreading cloud of flies caused his gorge to rise and his bowels to rebel. A moment later, Herc was overcome as well. The leukodaemon roared again, and lunged for the helpless pair. Its claws ripped and its teeth tore at the warriors. All they could do was back away under its merciless assault. Then Ratbone was there, interposing himself between the fiend and his friends. The druid sprang in, biting and snapping when he could find the opportunity, before springing away again. Still, he was not fast enough. For every small wound he inflicted on the daemon, it bloodied him twice. Inevitably, he felt himself weakening, but he knew that he would not give ground. He would stop the creature or die trying. Suddenly, to his astonishment and gratitude, it began to rain stone in the center of the chamber. Again, and again, the fist-sized rocks fell from thin air, pelting and hammering the daemon. It screeched in impotent rage as it tried in vain to avoid the deluge, and all the while Ratbone kept up his assault. Finally, with one last bellow, the fiend collapsed under the barrage, and Ratbone rushed forward and seized its skull in his jaws, crushing it with his vice-like bite.
____________________________________________________
The companions of the K.I.A. thought that they must be closing in on the power behind the cult of Urgathoa, judging by the increasing resistance they had been meeting. They were quiet and somber after the battle with the leukodaemon. Michael had healed their wounds, but their morale was low. They knew that it was very likely some or all of them might not return from their mission.
The long hall they’d been walking down abruptly opened into a circular chamber which rose into a high dome. Seven basins jutted from the walls, ensconced within evenly spaced alcoves that circled the room. Each was filled to the brim with a unique liquid corruption…blood, bile, milk, or other unidentifiable fluid. Each filled the air with its own distinct reek that created a noxious, eye-watering bouquet. Upon the floor around each basin lay several small, empty metal boxes, each carved with images of skulls. At the room’s center, rising from a wide pool of crystalline water, stood a golden statue of a sight both erotic and horrifying. The statue was that of a beautiful nude woman, human above the waist, but below it was nothing more than a skeleton. Standing beside the statue was a darkly beautiful woman. Her pale white face was framed by a mane of jet-black hair. She wore a flatteringly sculpted breastplate beneath her revealing robes, and she carried a particularly vicious-looking scythe in her hands.
“And so you have found your way to me, hopeful heroes,” she said in a cold, lilting voice. “Know that you stand before the Lady Andaisin, architect of your city’s death. You call this sending blood veil, yet I know it as the gentle kiss of the Pallid Princess. Your reward shall be great…choose of the seven scourges to become one with the goddess. Those who drink, I shall only cripple, leaving you alive to enjoy her as she quickens inside your flesh. Those who abstain are fools, not fit to house the divine gift. You may prostrate yourselves at my feet and I shall make your end all the more swift for it. Swifter, in any event, than this delightful end your lovely queen has enjoined me to create!”
That was all Ratbone needed to hear. Crouching, he launched himself at the priestess, yet as he charged, Katarina once again cloaked him in a shroud of magical silence. Andaisin’s face registered shocked outrage when she realized what had happened. Her dismay only grew when the druid latched onto her leg with his jaws, coating her from knee to ankle in a sheen of glimmering ice. A half-second behind Ratbone, Herc lowered his shield and slammed into the priestess with all his strength, driving her back into the fountain. As she struck the marble, something in her spine cracked and she collapsed to the floor. She struggled to regain her feet, but Herc smashed her again with his shield, sending her sprawling once more. Hissing silently through clenched teeth, she swung her scythe in a low arc, catching the mercenary across his legs, opening savagely gaping wounds. At the same time, a jagged cut suddenly appeared on her own leg, but she seemed not to notice the pain. What she did notice, however, was Ratbone bearing down on her. The druid’s jaws stretched wide as he closed them around her throat, tearing at her abdomen with his claws as he disemboweled her.
Just like that, it was over. For a moment, the heroes were stunned. That was it? After all they’d been through, their quest was over? They turned to one another, disbelief and questioning in their eyes. Suddenly, the faces of Michael, O’Reginald and Kat turned pale. Behind Ratbone, Valeris and Herc, something was happening to Andaisin’s body. It crackled with black energy as it rose slowly into the air. The three warriors turned slowly, their mouths slack. Then, without warning, Andaisin’s sundered flesh exploded with boils and pustules, while torrents of foul humors flooded forth and congealed into a sickening new body. What had just moments ago been a woman, now towered as a monstrosity of exposed muscle, twisting marrow, and hellish majesty. Flesh worn like a tattered gown and bone warped into gruesome weapons, her rent gut spilled a wave of hardened fluids, dried bowels, and supremely powerful muscles into a single tentacle-tail, propelling the feminine horror forward.
One of her hands had become fused into the shape of a fleshy scythe, and this she swung at Herc, opening a large gash in the merc’s chest. When Ratbone leaped for her, she backhanded the dog-druid with her other hand, and where her flesh touched his, the druid’s skin erupted in blood veil pox. Still, Ratbone bit at her with his snapping fangs before he dropped back to the ground below. He gathered himself to leap again, for now the thing that had been Andaisin hovered ten-feet above him and his companions, out of reach of their weapons. At that moment, however, he felt a wave of magic wash over him, and before he knew it, his canine body had doubled in size. He stood at eye-level with the undead abomination, and silently he thanked O’Reginald for his timely assistance. The Daughter of Urgathoa fixed him with her baleful gaze, but it was Valeris she turned her wrath upon as the duskblade leaped at her, his hands crackling with electricity. Andaisin slashed at him with her claws, at the same time swatting him aside like an insect with her muscular tail. Valeris landed in a heap against a far wall and did not rise again. The arena around them now clear, she then turned her attention back to Ratbone. They circled each other, each feinting and striking, back and forth, again and again. Yet the druid’s companions could tell it would only be a matter of time. Though his teeth and claws took their toll, Andaisin’s own weapons left his flesh hanging in tatters, blood flowing freely from his many wounds. He could not last much longer, and so Herc and O’Reginald took matters into their own hands. The big mercenary quickly strung the bow that hung at his back and began loosing arrow after arrow at the unholy saint, while at the same time, O’Reginald hurled volley after volley of arcane bolts. Slowly, the tide began to turn, and as Andaisin recoiled from yet another barrage of magic missiles, Ratbone seized her with all four of his upper claws, holding her tight against him as he savaged her with his fangs. Though she struggled mightily, and the wounds she inflicted were horrendous, ultimately, the Daughter of Urgathoa failed, her body going limp before returning once more to its natural state, once again, quite dead.
Neverwinter Knight
First Post
Very successful, indeed! Great tactics, guys. Too bad Rolth got lucky & escaped the silenced super-mongrel.
Was there really discussion over engaging Ramoska? This could have been...interesting.![:]](http://www.enworld.org/forum/images/smilies/devious.png "Devious :]")
Was there really discussion over engaging Ramoska? This could have been...interesting.
