WarEagleDex
First Post
Dexter (me) has two levels in swordsage.
And I believe sinclaire is a Sorcerer with draconic bloodline, not warmage.
And I believe sinclaire is a Sorcerer with draconic bloodline, not warmage.
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JollyDoc's Rise of the Runelords...Updated 12/22
- Thread starter JollyDoc
- Start date
What did you do for the Dread Necros spell list?
Joachim
First Post
Sadly, the Dread Necros spell list does not include 0 level spells....so that did not require any change.
JollyDoc
Explorer
STONE COLD
Twisted black trees rose wretchedly from shallow pools, seeming to have lurched from the land, their arthritic branches curled into miserable tortured claws. The sun seemed to scorn that place, and a cold dark mist loomed within the canopy of bone-bare branches above. Evil murmurs rode an unnatural wind that flowed forth from the glens, and shadows danced in the dark mists within. The part of the Shimmerglens known as Whitewillow was as different from the rest of the swamp as Turtleback Ferry was from Magnimar.
It was still early morning as the seven companions and Yap paddled two flat-bottomed rowboats through the fetid murk, but with the wan light that filtered through the thick canopy and mist, it might have been dusk. On Yap’s advice, they had stayed the night in Turtleback Ferry, avoiding travelling into the marsh at night, yet the pale daylight wasn’t much better. The trees of Whitewillow, once beautiful and mystic with drooping boughs of sparkling ivory leaves, had gone dark and twisted. They shifted and moved when they should not. Shadows played cruel tricks on the sharpest eyes, and sanity-shredding whispers would have caused even the canniest woodsman to lose his way. The deeper into its depths that Yap led them, the more the corruption grew. Spiders, fat and languid on poison, hung from trees. Dying birds twitched in the shallows. Slithering things with too many eyes squirted away through the water.
Aside from the horrific landscape, and the perversion of the natural world there, there were things in Whitewillow that went beyond the mere natural. Nothing but chill silence surrounded the travelers, though on occasion they would glimpse tall, dark-robed figures in their peripheral vision. The creatures’ enlarged, skeletal claws extended from their outstretched arms as if reaching for the companions, but when they turned to look, they saw nothing more than horribly twisted black trees. At one point, in frustration, Duerten hacked at one of them with his axe, and as his blade bit into the dark bark, it wept blood and seemed to cackle in the wind. Another time, ghostly translucent forms emerged from the trees all about the heroes. Fey of all sorts…spectral satyrs, ghostly grigs, phantom nixies, and sprightly spirits floated gently from the swamp, followed by a parade of phantom animals.
“My friends…,” Yap whispered.
The spirits caressed, danced through, and embraced the onlookers before passing on, the unfathomable business of the dead drawing them elsewhere. Still deeper, in the darkest corner of Whitewillow, a derelict ship emerged out of the gloom, inexplicably located hundreds of miles from the Varisian shore. The vessel was badly worn and covered in thick, dark green moss, but it was otherwise completely intact. The nameplate was missing, but the figurehead could still be made out…a wyvern in flight. As their boats floated silently past, they saw a white dog sitting on the deck, watching them with milky, blind eyes.
“Death…,” Yap whispered again.
Eventually, the tangled swamp gave way to a relatively large clearing, a calm pool of unnaturally still water ringed by twisted, decayed willow trees. Wind blew, but the trees did not sway. It was as if the very land had died. Yap quailed at the edge of the clearing.
“We’re here,” he said quietly. “My lady waits for you within. I dare not go any closer…,”
The terrified pixie stepped back, then cowered behind a gnarled tree. With no other choice apparent, the seven companions climbed from their boats and waded out into the middle of the clearing. Suddenly, with a howl, a ghostly figure rose from the waters. Once soul-shakingly beautiful, the nymph princess Myriana was now a haggard, ghostly horror. Her disembodied arms floated at her sides, exposed bone and sinew stretching towards her torso but ever too far out of reach. Her lower body faded away to smoke, whatever damage done to her in life too cruel for even her insane spirit to keep. Perhaps her most terrifying features, however, were her eyes…wells of hellish horror that cried out silently in an agony beyond anything a mortal creature could ever know. They threatened to reduce those who tried to hold her gaze to gibbering children. She was beauty undone, and torment incarnate. As her terrible gaze fell upon each of the seven, they were each struck blind and plunged into blackness, yet they could all hear her voice, hate-filled and shrieking.
“You! Why have you come here? You who failed Lamatar! You who failed to protect Fort Rannick! You who allowed the ogres to take my love to their lair high on Hook Mountain!”
It was Reaper who responded.
“Lady, we beg your pardon, but we did not know Lamatar. The attack and his capture occurred before we had even heard of Fort Rannick. But know this…we have since exacted vengeance on the Kreegs. Those who were not killed outright have been routed from the fort and forced back to Hook Mountain.”
“So still Kreegs live!” she wailed. “While my love has perished! You think the slaughter of a few ogres will assuage my grief?”
For a moment Reaper was speechless.
“Then I don’t understand, Lady,” he said at last. “What may be done to give you peace?”
She moaned horribly.
“I have no part of my heart’s love to return to life. All I need is a fragment, a single finger, a lock of hair, anything! Climb Hook Mountain, avenge his death, and return to me with a relic from Lamatar’s body. I shall take care of the rest. Return my beloved to me! Return my commander to my heart, or I shall find him with my vines and my dark trees will eat the land and churn your people to bone and misery! Return Lamatar to my embrace!”
With that, her shade faded back into the waters, and as her blinding beauty retreated, sight was restored to the heroes, and they found themselves alone and in silence once more.
_________________________________________________
The trip back to Hook Mountain was nothing compared to climbing the mountain itself. Following well-worn game trails, the seven companions, all bundled into heavy furs and cloaks, trudged through driving snow as winter came with a fury upon the Hook. Autumn was a forgotten dream as cutting wind lanced through wool and leather, and treacherous ice crawled along the mountainside. It was obvious that life could be cruel and short on the mountainside, and more so than ever as Winter sank her teeth into its crags.
After more than three hours of bone-numbing climbing, the heroes finally crested the last craggy outcrop about a half-mile from Hook Mountain’s 10,000-foot-high peak. There the constant flurries of wind-borne snow and frost lashed at a gaping hole in side of the mountain that looked out over a wide ledge of windswept stone. Smoke poured forth from the cave entrance, only to be instantly dispersed by the wind. Standing in the mouth of the cave, swathed in furs and leathers, were four burly Kreegs, each clutching an ice-rimed iron hook. When they spotted the companions climbing over the ridge, they wasted no time in advancing across the shelf. Likewise, Draton wasted no time in causing a wall of brilliant, white light to spring up between the oncoming giants and his allies. To everyone except the priest, friends and enemies alike, the coruscating curtain was opaque. So it was that Draton was the only one to see the four ogres pause before the wall, poised and waiting for the first enemy to show their face on the other side.
Before Draton could warn him, Adso moved quickly to the near corner of the light wall and peered cautiously around. Peering right back at him was Minktuck, a particularly large Kreeg who was missing his lower jaw, instead having several whole, dead minks sewn to his face, which bounced and jiggled as he grinned evilly at the monk. He stepped halfway around the wall, closely followed by one of his brethren. Very quickly, they had the half-orc hedged in, and when they began swinging their hooks, Adso knew he wouldn’t last long against them. Meanwhile, on the far edge of the wall, the other two Kreegs quickly came round, seeking to flank their prey. Cruemann quickly gave them pause by placing two shafts in the first one’s thigh, and Dexter drove the lesson home as he darted forward and plunged his dagger through its foot. The big Kreeg howled and raised its hook high as it prepared to cut the rogue down like an errant blade of grass. The hook never fell, however, as Reaper stepped boldly in front of the two ogres, his black cloak billowing out behind him in the savage wind. To onlookers, he almost seemed to swell with dark power, and the giants quailed before him, backpedalling and stumbling over themselves as they plunged through the wall in their effort to escape the dread necromancer.
Adso somersaulted nimbly away from Minktuck and his brother just as Duerten ambled up to them, the dwarf looking like nothing so much as a compact armadillo encased in his heavy armor and hunkered down behind his large shield. The ogres hammered at the deacon again and again, none of their blows penetrating his stout carapace. As they were distracted, Cruemann shot round after round at them, targeting Minktuck in particular. Finally, the big Kreeg began to sway from blood loss and then, as Dexter’s dagger sprouted from between his eyes, he crashed heavily to the stone. His kinsman fared little better as Sinclair, his purple hair flying, hurled fiery bursts of magical energy at him again and again. The ogre was able to shrug off the first few, but as he reeled, Duerten hewed with his axe, and Adso sprang back in, delivering devastating flurries of kicks and strikes until he joined his brother in the snow.
___________________________________________________
At the mouth of darkness leading into the Hook, jagged spurs of bone protruded from the stone on either side of the cave entrance, each towering twenty-feet in height, apparently the ribs of some monstrous behemoth. They bore crude scrimshaw carvings, many of which incorporated the seven-pointed Sihedron Rune. Beyond the ribs, an enormous statue stood in frozen vigil…a forty-foot tall giant with black skin covered by fissures and cracks, like the bed of a dried river. It wore majestic armor gilt and encrusted with gems, and gripped a towering glaive in its armored fists. The giant’s face was hidden by a ferocious full helm forged into the sneering grimace of a fanged devil. Around the giant’s neck hung a medallion…a seven-pointed star.
Past the statue of the rune-bound king, the tunnel reached a choke point. Three passages branched from it, and eight ogres stood poised between them, including the two big Kreegs that had fled before Reaper. This time, however, there was nowhere to run. As the six smaller ogres moved forward, however, it was not Cruemann’s bow, nor Adso’s fists, nor Dexter’s steel that met them, but instead Sinclair…alone and unarmed. As the giants closed, no fear showed on the gnome’s face, just pure, unadulterated glee. Arcane energy crackled around him, and his indigo hair stood on end. Blue fire coalesced around his hand, and when the giants were no more than five paces away, he loosed it. The fire moved like a living thing, leaping from one ogre to the next and the next, immolating each of them in turn. In a matter of seconds, all six of them had been reduced to piles of smoking ash. Stunned, the two Kreegs backed up several paces, drawing their bows from their backs. Their hesitation was their undoing. Adso sprang forward as Cruemann’s bow began to sing. Added to that were Draton’s fiery bolts of holy power and Reaper’s black, spectral hand. The two Kreegs fell before the onslaught before they could ever knock a single arrow. The silence and stillness after the combat lasted only a brief moment, however. A ground-shaking roar suddenly filled the tunnel as, from a wider tunnel to the south, over two dozen ogres surged out of the darkness.
“Plug the hole!” Draton shouted, and Adso, Dexter and Duerten rushed forward, but it was obvious they wouldn’t make it before the first wave of ogres was upon them.
“I’ve got this,” Reaper said with a crooked smile. “A little trick I picked up in Fort Rannick.”
The necromancer stepped forward and thrust his hands into the air, black power gathering to his call. Then, from the tunnel floor in the middle of ogre horde sprang a forest of familiar-looking black tentacles. They writhed and twined about the giants, tripping them up and stopping their charge. The ogres were strong and powerful, and many of them broke free from the grasping appendages, but as they did, they were cut down by their enemies who stood waiting for them on the other side. After that, it was simply a matter of time. The Kreegs did not stop their suicidal advance, much more afraid of what would befall them if they failed to defend their home and still lived to tell about it. By the time the slaughter was done, the dead lay stacked like cordwood in the tunnels, and the heroes of Magnimar stood gore-spattered and panting. Was that it, they wondered? Could it be? How many more ogres could there still be in the tunnels? More importantly, who, or what was leading them?
_____________________________________________________
Beyond the confluence of tunnels, the seven companions found themselves in a gigantic chamber that extended into darkness as it sloped upward between two wide ledges on which loomed statues of angular faces, strong brows, and fixed jaw lines. Above, the ceiling opened up to the slate-gray sky. The ramp led up in tiers before finally coming to an end before an immense, stone throne. Seated upon that throne was what could only be described as a giant. For a moment, he appeared to be a statue himself, his gray, stony skin blending perfectly with the rock around him, but then his eyes opened, and he turned to peer down at his visitors. He spoke in a rumbling voice that sounded like rocks being crushed. As he did, two more giants, leaner and more muscular, detached themselves from the shadows to either side of his throne. Each carried a large, stone club in one hand. Barl Breakbones, right-hand of Mokmurian, chuckled to himself as he saw the pitiful force arrayed against him. True, they had bested the ogres, but that was no great feat. Now, they were spent, exhausted, and presenting themselves before him.
“Crush them,” he ordered his guards in his native tongue.
In response, each of the younger giants bent to retrieve a large rock, boulders really, and hefted them over their heads.
“You will surrender yourselves now!” Draton called out. “You will do so, or face the justice of Sarenrae!”
“I don’t think they’re listening,” Dexter said. Proof of that came when the two boulders smashed to the ground before and behind them, spraying them all with needle-like slivers of stone. Dexter rolled away and then darted up the rest of the slope and began climbing rapidly towards the higher ledge. Adso ran quickly behind the rogue, but instead of climbing, he leaped easily to the second tier, and then again to the highest. As he landed, an explosion engulfed the three stone giants, a fireball hurled by Sinclair. The flames passed, merely leaving scorch marks on the rough hide of the giants. In response, Barl stood to his full height and raised his hands, chanting harsh words as he called his own magic to his bidding. A salvo of crimson missiles streaked from his fingers, finding the little gnome unerringly and hurling him several feet backwards.
“A sorcerer!” Reaper cried. “Adso! He’s yours!”
Duerten huffed and puffed as he scuttled up the ramp and reached the base of the lower ledge. Sighing to himself, he looked up and began climbing, like a large, steel beetle. Behind him, Cruemann knelt and knocked his bow. Swiftly, he loosed three arrows, and all pierced the hide of the nearest giant easily, despite the density of the creature’s skin. Adso used the distraction to dart past the reeling giant and closed the distance to Barl rapidly. Smiling to himself, the half-orc imagined the surprise on the sorcerer’s face when he realized he would no longer be able to bring his magic to bear. As it turned out, it was Adso who was surprised, for as he drew near, Barl reached down beside his throne and drew out an enormous earth breaker maul. He swung it like a battering ram, slamming it into the monk and sending him sprawling.
“You little people never learn,” the giant rumbled in Common.
As Adso struggled to rise, Barl gripped the maul in both hands and brought it down squarely on the half-orc’s back. The sound of bone breaking could be heard clearly by Dexter thirty feet away. Blood sprayed from Adso’s mouth as he screamed in silent agony. A moment later, his pain turned to oblivion as Barl swung his maul again.
“No!” Dexter shouted, and he ran full out towards the giants. Rays of scorching fire and a lance of pure sound raced past him from Sinclair and Draton, hammering the nearest giant out of his path. Dexter spared a glance down at his companions and began to raise his hand in thanks, but as he looked, he saw four figures emerge from the gloom behind his friends.
“Ware!” he shouted.
Reaper turned at Dexter’s warning, and felt his mouth go instantly dry. Three female creatures, as tall as ogres, though nowhere near as burly, shambled out of the darkness. The first was a humpbacked hag with oversized talons sprouting from her stumpy arms. Next to her, her sister was tall and thin, like a skeleton wrapped in ugly purple flesh and a sagging white robe. The last had a face that was a mass of pustules, warts the size of coins, and craters that wept ooze. She was squat and fat with bulbous breasts that hung almost to her knees. Walking before them was a man-sized creature. Superficially, he appeared human, though his skin bore the black, bloated color of a frost-bitten corpse. His entire body was caked with ice. His left hand looked almost to be a claw made of icicles, and his brow was decorated with a crown of the same.
“Gnome, if you’ve got any more special talents up those sleeves of yours, now would be the time to show all your cards,” Reaper hissed, and then quickly began his own spell.
Once more, black tentacles sprang from the stone, but though the hags cursed and spat as they swatted and clawed at the arms, they were no more than inconvenienced. Not so their undead escort. Him the tentacles held fast, lifting him into the air as they twined about him and squeezed. Sinclair stepped beside Reaper and twitched the sleeves of his robes back from his hands. Clasping his fingers together, he muttered and chanted, summoning fire between his palms. He flung his hands forward and lobbed the flaming ball towards the forest of tentacles, where it exploded with a muffled whumph. The hags shrieked, though more in anger than in real pain, but the undead creature burned to ash.
Dexter turned towards the giant sorcerer, murder in his eyes, but as he started forward again, one of Barl’s guards moved to block his path. A moment later, however, the stone giant howled and pitched head-first over the side of the ledge as one of Cruemann’s black-fletched arrows pierced his throat. Dexter started to run, but before he’d even crossed half the distance to the throne, Barl held up one hand, and from it, a spectral copy, very similar to the one Reaper was so fond of manifesting, darted towards the rogue. The large hand, almost half as tall as Dexter, casually brushed against him, but as it did, he felt a searing cold lance through his body, taking his breath completely away for a moment. The hesitation was all that was needed for Barl’s second minion to close quickly to the rogue. Swinging his cudgel, the giant slammed Dex hard to the stone floor, but the wily rogue’s instincts allowed him to roll with the blow at the last second, and he came quickly back to his feet, sword and dagger in hand. Before the giant could move, Dex lunged, and sank both blades into the knees of the brute. As it collapsed, the giant swung again, clipping Dex across the scalp, momentarily dazing him as bright light exploded behind his eyes. When his vision cleared again, he saw that Duerten had managed to reach the top of the ledge and was harrying the giant relentlessly, his axe hewing and cleaving at its flesh. The giant held up both hands defensively, but suffered only worse wounds for the effort. Dexter leaped onto the creature’s back and stabbed repeatedly at its neck until it fell heavily onto its side and moved now more.
“Impressive,” Barl sneered, “but how will you fare against a more…familiar foe?”
Dex and Duerten turned towards the sorcerer and saw a new, smaller figure standing in front of the giant. To their dawning horror, they realized exactly who and what it was that they were seeing…it was Adso, or rather, what was left of his corpse, obscenely animated and shambling towards them.
“There’s plenty more where that came from!” Sinclair giggled maniacally as he hurled another fireball at the trapped hags. This time, one of the sisters went down, screaming and wailing as she beat more and more feebly at the flames that engulfed her.
“Need some help, little fella?” Cruemann asked as he stepped up beside the gnome.
Sinclair glared in irritation at the human, but said nothing, instead bowing and motioning for him to proceed. One of the remaining hags was just emerging from the tentacles when Cruemann planted three arrows into her chest, causing her to fall back into the nest, where the rubbery arms quickly crushed the remaining life from her. An ugly, hateful glare passed over the face of her sister, and she hissed once before turning and pushing her way back through the tentacles to the opposite side, and then disappearing into the darkness of the tunnel.
“You go too far, monster!” Draton’s voice boomed as the priest suddenly appeared in a flash of light upon the high shelf. His holy medallion was grasped firmly before him, and power flowed through it like white fire. The pure light burned into the thing that had been Adso, searing the flesh from its bones. It collapsed into a smoldering heap at the cleric’s feet.
“I haven’t even gotten started!” Barl laughed, and he seized his hammer and thundered across the floor, straight at Draton. The maul fell like a thunderclap, lifting the priest from his feet. He hit the ground ten feet away with bone-jarring force, but incredibly, he climbed to his knees, spitting blood, one eye blackened and swollen shut. With a huge effort of will, he pushed himself to his feet once more.
“Still some fight in you?” Barl chortled, and raised his maul again.
Suddenly, a blast of green fire surrounded the giant, and the hammer fell from his hands when he abruptly found its weight too much to bear.
“I’d say that about evens the field,” Reaper said.
“Wha…?” the sorcerer gasped, but his words were cut short by a cry of pain as Dexter fired a shot directly into his gut. Sinclair added his own contribution in the form of two rays of scorching fire. Finally, Barl collapsed completely as a flash of Dexter’s silver dagger severed one of his hamstrings. The giant lay panting on the floor in a growing pool of his own blood.
“Please!” he pleaded. “I surrender! I’ll do anything, but only spare my life!”
“All you’ll do is die!” Dexter shouted as he raised his blade for the killing blow.
“Stay your weapon!” Draton commanded. “I would have words with this…thing before we decide his fate.”
“Oh, his fate’s already decided,” the rogue sneered, “but you can go ahead and speak to him. He’d best choose his words wisely, for they’ll surely decide exactly what sort of death awaits him.”
“If you have anything useful to say, giant,” Draton warned, “you would do well to speak hastily. What is your purpose here?”
Barl struggled to sit, clutching one hand against his bleeding wounds.
“I was sent by my lord, Mokmurian. He is a great and powerful mage among my people. He is gathering a great army of giants to his banner, preparing to make war on this land and its people. I was sent as an envoy to the Kreeg ogres, to subjugate them and prepare them for assimilation into my lord Mokmurian’s army.”
“For what reason would your master go to war against Varisia?” Draton asked, perplexed.
“To reclaim our birthright,” Barl said proudly, drawing himself up. “Thousands of years past, all of these lands belonged to us and our kin. Our ancestors were betrayed and enslaved by your kind, and now your pathetic race holds all that was once ours!”
“Hold your tongue,” Dexter hissed, “before I slice it out and hold it for you!”
Barl’s belligerence seemed to subside for the moment.
“What of Fort Rannick?” Draton questioned further. “Why did you see fit to send the Kreegs against it?”
Barl shrugged. “The rangers found our lair here on Hook Mountain. They sent their spies here and discovered my presence. They could not be allowed to warn anyone. Their…elimination was simple strategy.”
“Strategy!?” Reaper shouted. “You call those atrocities strategy?”
Barl shrugged again. “Such are the fortunes of war. Collateral damage is often…unavoidable.”
Draton could see the look on the faces of Dexter and Reaper, and he quickly pressed on.
“Where can we find Mokmurian?”
“His fortress, Jorgenfist, is in the Iron Peaks, atop the Storval Plateau,” Barl replied. “I have seen it, though I have never been inside. It is truly a sight to behold,” he said wistfully.
“What of those creatures that attacked us? And the undead thing that was with them?” Draton asked.
“Ah,” Barl chuckled. “The Sisters of the Hook. They were a hag covey who served as allies and consorts of the Kreegs. I don’t think they were very pleased when I took over from the previous chieftain here. I sought to appease them somewhat by providing them with a plaything…the reanimated body of the leader of the Black Arrows. I gave him to them once I’d finished questioning him.”
Now it was Draton’s turn to flush with anger. “That…was Lamatar?” he asked dangerously.
“Yes, now that you mention it,” Barl said pensively, “I think that was his name.”
“Now he dies, right?” Dexter spat bitterly. Barl’s face blanched.
“Wait,” this time it was Reaper who spoke. He had knelt beside one of the dead stone giants, and turned its head so that his companions could see the tattoo on the back of its scalp…the Sihedron Rune. “What is this?”
“Mokmurian’s mark,” Barl said. “He required all of his people to bear it.”
“Then why was Lucrecia marking the people of Turtleback Ferry with it?” Reaper demanded.
“The lamia?” Barl asked, surprised. “I wasn’t aware that she was. She was sent with me by Mokmurian, but she was not under my command. We were…equals. She said she had business in the town on behalf of Mokmurian, but she didn’t tell me the details.”
Reaper nodded to Dexter. The rogue raised his dagger again.
“No!” Barl shouted. “You said you’d spare me! I’ve told you everything! I swear!”
“And your honesty is duly noted,” Dexter said. “I’ll make sure and write it on your tombstone!”
It was Draton again who stayed his hand.
“No,” the priest said. “He has indeed given us valuable information. You say you will do anything, giant. Do you truly mean what you say?”
“Yes!” Barl nodded eagerly.
“Then you should have no problem accepting Sarenrae as your new Mistress, and returning with us to Magnimar to stand trial.”
“What??” Dexter shouted. “Are you insane? He’s admitted everything! He ordered the slaughter at Fort Rannick! He tortured and murdered Lamatar, and then defiled his corpse! He killed Adso right in front of us and then committed this atrocity against him! Now you talk of trials and redemption??”
“Father,” Duerten interrupted, “I hate t’say it, but I kinda agree with th’rogue.”
Draton shook his head. “These things are not for us to decide. Sarenrae has placed this creature in our road for a purpose. We do not question Her will in such things.”
“Well I sure as Hell do!” Reaper said. “Your high morals aside, this is the real world! He’s a mass murderer, and is complicit in plotting war against Varisia! That’s treason at the least!”
“More reason to allow the proper authorities to decide his fate,” Draton said calmly. “I am firm in this decision. I will not allow his life to be taken while I draw breath.”
Reaper was quiet, but his mind worked feverishly. Perhaps the usefulness of this alliance had come to an end…”
_________________________________________________
Before their road could take them back to Magnimar, the six companions had unfinished business. First, they visited Fort Rannick, bearing news of their victory over the Kreegs and of the fate of Lamatar. Shalelu elected to travel with them, bidding her step-father farewell, and promising that she would return. Reaper also promised to return, for he had considered the offer of stewardship over the fort, and he thought that such an endeavor might just suit his purposes well. From Fort Rannick, they journeyed to Turtleback Ferry, and the people there were both frightened and angered when they beheld the shackled figure of Barl Breakbones. The companions were again hailed as heroes, and a feast day was proclaimed in their honor. During their brief respite, Barl was put to work repairing some of the damage caused by the flood. Soon, however, it was time to move on. They still had a promise to fulfill.
They found Whitewillow much as they had left it, and Yap was beside himself with joy at seeing them again, though the sight of the stone giant caused him to quiver so with fright that Sinclair feared his wings might shake off. When Myriana appeared once more, it was only Barl that she struck blind with her terrible power.
“Well?” she demanded. “Have you returned what I have lost?”
Draton nodded silently, and drew from his belt pouch a lock of Lamatar’s hair.
“My beloved,” Myriana whispered, her face softening. “You have my gratitude,” she said, not unkindly.
“Then perhaps you would grant us one final boon,” Dexter said, stepping boldly forward.
“Dexter, what are you doing?” Reaper hissed.
In answer, the rogue reached into his own pouch and pulled out what appeared to be a finger bone.
“You said that you could restore Lamatar to life,” Dex began. “One of our own died so that we might return your lover to you. Can you do the same for him?”
Myriana looked pensive. “What I offer is not resurrection as you might know it,” she said at length. “I can do what you ask, but be warned, your companion may not be as you remember him.”
“Then do it,” Dex said, throwing Draton a caustic look before the priest could protest.
Myriana instructed Dexter to place the bone on the ground. When he complied, she began whispering, gathering power to her as a strong wind began blowing through the willow trees. To the stunned amazement of the onlookers, the small bone began to grow flesh, and then more bone, until, within moments, an intact hand lay there. The process continued, and an arm followed. Slowly, the nymph’s magic constructed an entirely new body for Adso.
“Ah,” she murmured, “blood calls to blood.”
After what seemed like hours, the companions stood staring in disbelief as Adso slowly blinked open his eyes.
“What are you all looking at?” the now-full-blooded orc asked suspiciously…
Twisted black trees rose wretchedly from shallow pools, seeming to have lurched from the land, their arthritic branches curled into miserable tortured claws. The sun seemed to scorn that place, and a cold dark mist loomed within the canopy of bone-bare branches above. Evil murmurs rode an unnatural wind that flowed forth from the glens, and shadows danced in the dark mists within. The part of the Shimmerglens known as Whitewillow was as different from the rest of the swamp as Turtleback Ferry was from Magnimar.
It was still early morning as the seven companions and Yap paddled two flat-bottomed rowboats through the fetid murk, but with the wan light that filtered through the thick canopy and mist, it might have been dusk. On Yap’s advice, they had stayed the night in Turtleback Ferry, avoiding travelling into the marsh at night, yet the pale daylight wasn’t much better. The trees of Whitewillow, once beautiful and mystic with drooping boughs of sparkling ivory leaves, had gone dark and twisted. They shifted and moved when they should not. Shadows played cruel tricks on the sharpest eyes, and sanity-shredding whispers would have caused even the canniest woodsman to lose his way. The deeper into its depths that Yap led them, the more the corruption grew. Spiders, fat and languid on poison, hung from trees. Dying birds twitched in the shallows. Slithering things with too many eyes squirted away through the water.
Aside from the horrific landscape, and the perversion of the natural world there, there were things in Whitewillow that went beyond the mere natural. Nothing but chill silence surrounded the travelers, though on occasion they would glimpse tall, dark-robed figures in their peripheral vision. The creatures’ enlarged, skeletal claws extended from their outstretched arms as if reaching for the companions, but when they turned to look, they saw nothing more than horribly twisted black trees. At one point, in frustration, Duerten hacked at one of them with his axe, and as his blade bit into the dark bark, it wept blood and seemed to cackle in the wind. Another time, ghostly translucent forms emerged from the trees all about the heroes. Fey of all sorts…spectral satyrs, ghostly grigs, phantom nixies, and sprightly spirits floated gently from the swamp, followed by a parade of phantom animals.
“My friends…,” Yap whispered.
The spirits caressed, danced through, and embraced the onlookers before passing on, the unfathomable business of the dead drawing them elsewhere. Still deeper, in the darkest corner of Whitewillow, a derelict ship emerged out of the gloom, inexplicably located hundreds of miles from the Varisian shore. The vessel was badly worn and covered in thick, dark green moss, but it was otherwise completely intact. The nameplate was missing, but the figurehead could still be made out…a wyvern in flight. As their boats floated silently past, they saw a white dog sitting on the deck, watching them with milky, blind eyes.
“Death…,” Yap whispered again.
Eventually, the tangled swamp gave way to a relatively large clearing, a calm pool of unnaturally still water ringed by twisted, decayed willow trees. Wind blew, but the trees did not sway. It was as if the very land had died. Yap quailed at the edge of the clearing.
“We’re here,” he said quietly. “My lady waits for you within. I dare not go any closer…,”
The terrified pixie stepped back, then cowered behind a gnarled tree. With no other choice apparent, the seven companions climbed from their boats and waded out into the middle of the clearing. Suddenly, with a howl, a ghostly figure rose from the waters. Once soul-shakingly beautiful, the nymph princess Myriana was now a haggard, ghostly horror. Her disembodied arms floated at her sides, exposed bone and sinew stretching towards her torso but ever too far out of reach. Her lower body faded away to smoke, whatever damage done to her in life too cruel for even her insane spirit to keep. Perhaps her most terrifying features, however, were her eyes…wells of hellish horror that cried out silently in an agony beyond anything a mortal creature could ever know. They threatened to reduce those who tried to hold her gaze to gibbering children. She was beauty undone, and torment incarnate. As her terrible gaze fell upon each of the seven, they were each struck blind and plunged into blackness, yet they could all hear her voice, hate-filled and shrieking.
“You! Why have you come here? You who failed Lamatar! You who failed to protect Fort Rannick! You who allowed the ogres to take my love to their lair high on Hook Mountain!”
It was Reaper who responded.
“Lady, we beg your pardon, but we did not know Lamatar. The attack and his capture occurred before we had even heard of Fort Rannick. But know this…we have since exacted vengeance on the Kreegs. Those who were not killed outright have been routed from the fort and forced back to Hook Mountain.”
“So still Kreegs live!” she wailed. “While my love has perished! You think the slaughter of a few ogres will assuage my grief?”
For a moment Reaper was speechless.
“Then I don’t understand, Lady,” he said at last. “What may be done to give you peace?”
She moaned horribly.
“I have no part of my heart’s love to return to life. All I need is a fragment, a single finger, a lock of hair, anything! Climb Hook Mountain, avenge his death, and return to me with a relic from Lamatar’s body. I shall take care of the rest. Return my beloved to me! Return my commander to my heart, or I shall find him with my vines and my dark trees will eat the land and churn your people to bone and misery! Return Lamatar to my embrace!”
With that, her shade faded back into the waters, and as her blinding beauty retreated, sight was restored to the heroes, and they found themselves alone and in silence once more.
_________________________________________________
The trip back to Hook Mountain was nothing compared to climbing the mountain itself. Following well-worn game trails, the seven companions, all bundled into heavy furs and cloaks, trudged through driving snow as winter came with a fury upon the Hook. Autumn was a forgotten dream as cutting wind lanced through wool and leather, and treacherous ice crawled along the mountainside. It was obvious that life could be cruel and short on the mountainside, and more so than ever as Winter sank her teeth into its crags.
After more than three hours of bone-numbing climbing, the heroes finally crested the last craggy outcrop about a half-mile from Hook Mountain’s 10,000-foot-high peak. There the constant flurries of wind-borne snow and frost lashed at a gaping hole in side of the mountain that looked out over a wide ledge of windswept stone. Smoke poured forth from the cave entrance, only to be instantly dispersed by the wind. Standing in the mouth of the cave, swathed in furs and leathers, were four burly Kreegs, each clutching an ice-rimed iron hook. When they spotted the companions climbing over the ridge, they wasted no time in advancing across the shelf. Likewise, Draton wasted no time in causing a wall of brilliant, white light to spring up between the oncoming giants and his allies. To everyone except the priest, friends and enemies alike, the coruscating curtain was opaque. So it was that Draton was the only one to see the four ogres pause before the wall, poised and waiting for the first enemy to show their face on the other side.
Before Draton could warn him, Adso moved quickly to the near corner of the light wall and peered cautiously around. Peering right back at him was Minktuck, a particularly large Kreeg who was missing his lower jaw, instead having several whole, dead minks sewn to his face, which bounced and jiggled as he grinned evilly at the monk. He stepped halfway around the wall, closely followed by one of his brethren. Very quickly, they had the half-orc hedged in, and when they began swinging their hooks, Adso knew he wouldn’t last long against them. Meanwhile, on the far edge of the wall, the other two Kreegs quickly came round, seeking to flank their prey. Cruemann quickly gave them pause by placing two shafts in the first one’s thigh, and Dexter drove the lesson home as he darted forward and plunged his dagger through its foot. The big Kreeg howled and raised its hook high as it prepared to cut the rogue down like an errant blade of grass. The hook never fell, however, as Reaper stepped boldly in front of the two ogres, his black cloak billowing out behind him in the savage wind. To onlookers, he almost seemed to swell with dark power, and the giants quailed before him, backpedalling and stumbling over themselves as they plunged through the wall in their effort to escape the dread necromancer.
Adso somersaulted nimbly away from Minktuck and his brother just as Duerten ambled up to them, the dwarf looking like nothing so much as a compact armadillo encased in his heavy armor and hunkered down behind his large shield. The ogres hammered at the deacon again and again, none of their blows penetrating his stout carapace. As they were distracted, Cruemann shot round after round at them, targeting Minktuck in particular. Finally, the big Kreeg began to sway from blood loss and then, as Dexter’s dagger sprouted from between his eyes, he crashed heavily to the stone. His kinsman fared little better as Sinclair, his purple hair flying, hurled fiery bursts of magical energy at him again and again. The ogre was able to shrug off the first few, but as he reeled, Duerten hewed with his axe, and Adso sprang back in, delivering devastating flurries of kicks and strikes until he joined his brother in the snow.
___________________________________________________
At the mouth of darkness leading into the Hook, jagged spurs of bone protruded from the stone on either side of the cave entrance, each towering twenty-feet in height, apparently the ribs of some monstrous behemoth. They bore crude scrimshaw carvings, many of which incorporated the seven-pointed Sihedron Rune. Beyond the ribs, an enormous statue stood in frozen vigil…a forty-foot tall giant with black skin covered by fissures and cracks, like the bed of a dried river. It wore majestic armor gilt and encrusted with gems, and gripped a towering glaive in its armored fists. The giant’s face was hidden by a ferocious full helm forged into the sneering grimace of a fanged devil. Around the giant’s neck hung a medallion…a seven-pointed star.
Past the statue of the rune-bound king, the tunnel reached a choke point. Three passages branched from it, and eight ogres stood poised between them, including the two big Kreegs that had fled before Reaper. This time, however, there was nowhere to run. As the six smaller ogres moved forward, however, it was not Cruemann’s bow, nor Adso’s fists, nor Dexter’s steel that met them, but instead Sinclair…alone and unarmed. As the giants closed, no fear showed on the gnome’s face, just pure, unadulterated glee. Arcane energy crackled around him, and his indigo hair stood on end. Blue fire coalesced around his hand, and when the giants were no more than five paces away, he loosed it. The fire moved like a living thing, leaping from one ogre to the next and the next, immolating each of them in turn. In a matter of seconds, all six of them had been reduced to piles of smoking ash. Stunned, the two Kreegs backed up several paces, drawing their bows from their backs. Their hesitation was their undoing. Adso sprang forward as Cruemann’s bow began to sing. Added to that were Draton’s fiery bolts of holy power and Reaper’s black, spectral hand. The two Kreegs fell before the onslaught before they could ever knock a single arrow. The silence and stillness after the combat lasted only a brief moment, however. A ground-shaking roar suddenly filled the tunnel as, from a wider tunnel to the south, over two dozen ogres surged out of the darkness.
“Plug the hole!” Draton shouted, and Adso, Dexter and Duerten rushed forward, but it was obvious they wouldn’t make it before the first wave of ogres was upon them.
“I’ve got this,” Reaper said with a crooked smile. “A little trick I picked up in Fort Rannick.”
The necromancer stepped forward and thrust his hands into the air, black power gathering to his call. Then, from the tunnel floor in the middle of ogre horde sprang a forest of familiar-looking black tentacles. They writhed and twined about the giants, tripping them up and stopping their charge. The ogres were strong and powerful, and many of them broke free from the grasping appendages, but as they did, they were cut down by their enemies who stood waiting for them on the other side. After that, it was simply a matter of time. The Kreegs did not stop their suicidal advance, much more afraid of what would befall them if they failed to defend their home and still lived to tell about it. By the time the slaughter was done, the dead lay stacked like cordwood in the tunnels, and the heroes of Magnimar stood gore-spattered and panting. Was that it, they wondered? Could it be? How many more ogres could there still be in the tunnels? More importantly, who, or what was leading them?
_____________________________________________________
Beyond the confluence of tunnels, the seven companions found themselves in a gigantic chamber that extended into darkness as it sloped upward between two wide ledges on which loomed statues of angular faces, strong brows, and fixed jaw lines. Above, the ceiling opened up to the slate-gray sky. The ramp led up in tiers before finally coming to an end before an immense, stone throne. Seated upon that throne was what could only be described as a giant. For a moment, he appeared to be a statue himself, his gray, stony skin blending perfectly with the rock around him, but then his eyes opened, and he turned to peer down at his visitors. He spoke in a rumbling voice that sounded like rocks being crushed. As he did, two more giants, leaner and more muscular, detached themselves from the shadows to either side of his throne. Each carried a large, stone club in one hand. Barl Breakbones, right-hand of Mokmurian, chuckled to himself as he saw the pitiful force arrayed against him. True, they had bested the ogres, but that was no great feat. Now, they were spent, exhausted, and presenting themselves before him.
“Crush them,” he ordered his guards in his native tongue.
In response, each of the younger giants bent to retrieve a large rock, boulders really, and hefted them over their heads.
“You will surrender yourselves now!” Draton called out. “You will do so, or face the justice of Sarenrae!”
“I don’t think they’re listening,” Dexter said. Proof of that came when the two boulders smashed to the ground before and behind them, spraying them all with needle-like slivers of stone. Dexter rolled away and then darted up the rest of the slope and began climbing rapidly towards the higher ledge. Adso ran quickly behind the rogue, but instead of climbing, he leaped easily to the second tier, and then again to the highest. As he landed, an explosion engulfed the three stone giants, a fireball hurled by Sinclair. The flames passed, merely leaving scorch marks on the rough hide of the giants. In response, Barl stood to his full height and raised his hands, chanting harsh words as he called his own magic to his bidding. A salvo of crimson missiles streaked from his fingers, finding the little gnome unerringly and hurling him several feet backwards.
“A sorcerer!” Reaper cried. “Adso! He’s yours!”
Duerten huffed and puffed as he scuttled up the ramp and reached the base of the lower ledge. Sighing to himself, he looked up and began climbing, like a large, steel beetle. Behind him, Cruemann knelt and knocked his bow. Swiftly, he loosed three arrows, and all pierced the hide of the nearest giant easily, despite the density of the creature’s skin. Adso used the distraction to dart past the reeling giant and closed the distance to Barl rapidly. Smiling to himself, the half-orc imagined the surprise on the sorcerer’s face when he realized he would no longer be able to bring his magic to bear. As it turned out, it was Adso who was surprised, for as he drew near, Barl reached down beside his throne and drew out an enormous earth breaker maul. He swung it like a battering ram, slamming it into the monk and sending him sprawling.
“You little people never learn,” the giant rumbled in Common.
As Adso struggled to rise, Barl gripped the maul in both hands and brought it down squarely on the half-orc’s back. The sound of bone breaking could be heard clearly by Dexter thirty feet away. Blood sprayed from Adso’s mouth as he screamed in silent agony. A moment later, his pain turned to oblivion as Barl swung his maul again.
“No!” Dexter shouted, and he ran full out towards the giants. Rays of scorching fire and a lance of pure sound raced past him from Sinclair and Draton, hammering the nearest giant out of his path. Dexter spared a glance down at his companions and began to raise his hand in thanks, but as he looked, he saw four figures emerge from the gloom behind his friends.
“Ware!” he shouted.
Reaper turned at Dexter’s warning, and felt his mouth go instantly dry. Three female creatures, as tall as ogres, though nowhere near as burly, shambled out of the darkness. The first was a humpbacked hag with oversized talons sprouting from her stumpy arms. Next to her, her sister was tall and thin, like a skeleton wrapped in ugly purple flesh and a sagging white robe. The last had a face that was a mass of pustules, warts the size of coins, and craters that wept ooze. She was squat and fat with bulbous breasts that hung almost to her knees. Walking before them was a man-sized creature. Superficially, he appeared human, though his skin bore the black, bloated color of a frost-bitten corpse. His entire body was caked with ice. His left hand looked almost to be a claw made of icicles, and his brow was decorated with a crown of the same.
“Gnome, if you’ve got any more special talents up those sleeves of yours, now would be the time to show all your cards,” Reaper hissed, and then quickly began his own spell.
Once more, black tentacles sprang from the stone, but though the hags cursed and spat as they swatted and clawed at the arms, they were no more than inconvenienced. Not so their undead escort. Him the tentacles held fast, lifting him into the air as they twined about him and squeezed. Sinclair stepped beside Reaper and twitched the sleeves of his robes back from his hands. Clasping his fingers together, he muttered and chanted, summoning fire between his palms. He flung his hands forward and lobbed the flaming ball towards the forest of tentacles, where it exploded with a muffled whumph. The hags shrieked, though more in anger than in real pain, but the undead creature burned to ash.
Dexter turned towards the giant sorcerer, murder in his eyes, but as he started forward again, one of Barl’s guards moved to block his path. A moment later, however, the stone giant howled and pitched head-first over the side of the ledge as one of Cruemann’s black-fletched arrows pierced his throat. Dexter started to run, but before he’d even crossed half the distance to the throne, Barl held up one hand, and from it, a spectral copy, very similar to the one Reaper was so fond of manifesting, darted towards the rogue. The large hand, almost half as tall as Dexter, casually brushed against him, but as it did, he felt a searing cold lance through his body, taking his breath completely away for a moment. The hesitation was all that was needed for Barl’s second minion to close quickly to the rogue. Swinging his cudgel, the giant slammed Dex hard to the stone floor, but the wily rogue’s instincts allowed him to roll with the blow at the last second, and he came quickly back to his feet, sword and dagger in hand. Before the giant could move, Dex lunged, and sank both blades into the knees of the brute. As it collapsed, the giant swung again, clipping Dex across the scalp, momentarily dazing him as bright light exploded behind his eyes. When his vision cleared again, he saw that Duerten had managed to reach the top of the ledge and was harrying the giant relentlessly, his axe hewing and cleaving at its flesh. The giant held up both hands defensively, but suffered only worse wounds for the effort. Dexter leaped onto the creature’s back and stabbed repeatedly at its neck until it fell heavily onto its side and moved now more.
“Impressive,” Barl sneered, “but how will you fare against a more…familiar foe?”
Dex and Duerten turned towards the sorcerer and saw a new, smaller figure standing in front of the giant. To their dawning horror, they realized exactly who and what it was that they were seeing…it was Adso, or rather, what was left of his corpse, obscenely animated and shambling towards them.
“There’s plenty more where that came from!” Sinclair giggled maniacally as he hurled another fireball at the trapped hags. This time, one of the sisters went down, screaming and wailing as she beat more and more feebly at the flames that engulfed her.
“Need some help, little fella?” Cruemann asked as he stepped up beside the gnome.
Sinclair glared in irritation at the human, but said nothing, instead bowing and motioning for him to proceed. One of the remaining hags was just emerging from the tentacles when Cruemann planted three arrows into her chest, causing her to fall back into the nest, where the rubbery arms quickly crushed the remaining life from her. An ugly, hateful glare passed over the face of her sister, and she hissed once before turning and pushing her way back through the tentacles to the opposite side, and then disappearing into the darkness of the tunnel.
“You go too far, monster!” Draton’s voice boomed as the priest suddenly appeared in a flash of light upon the high shelf. His holy medallion was grasped firmly before him, and power flowed through it like white fire. The pure light burned into the thing that had been Adso, searing the flesh from its bones. It collapsed into a smoldering heap at the cleric’s feet.
“I haven’t even gotten started!” Barl laughed, and he seized his hammer and thundered across the floor, straight at Draton. The maul fell like a thunderclap, lifting the priest from his feet. He hit the ground ten feet away with bone-jarring force, but incredibly, he climbed to his knees, spitting blood, one eye blackened and swollen shut. With a huge effort of will, he pushed himself to his feet once more.
“Still some fight in you?” Barl chortled, and raised his maul again.
Suddenly, a blast of green fire surrounded the giant, and the hammer fell from his hands when he abruptly found its weight too much to bear.
“I’d say that about evens the field,” Reaper said.
“Wha…?” the sorcerer gasped, but his words were cut short by a cry of pain as Dexter fired a shot directly into his gut. Sinclair added his own contribution in the form of two rays of scorching fire. Finally, Barl collapsed completely as a flash of Dexter’s silver dagger severed one of his hamstrings. The giant lay panting on the floor in a growing pool of his own blood.
“Please!” he pleaded. “I surrender! I’ll do anything, but only spare my life!”
“All you’ll do is die!” Dexter shouted as he raised his blade for the killing blow.
“Stay your weapon!” Draton commanded. “I would have words with this…thing before we decide his fate.”
“Oh, his fate’s already decided,” the rogue sneered, “but you can go ahead and speak to him. He’d best choose his words wisely, for they’ll surely decide exactly what sort of death awaits him.”
“If you have anything useful to say, giant,” Draton warned, “you would do well to speak hastily. What is your purpose here?”
Barl struggled to sit, clutching one hand against his bleeding wounds.
“I was sent by my lord, Mokmurian. He is a great and powerful mage among my people. He is gathering a great army of giants to his banner, preparing to make war on this land and its people. I was sent as an envoy to the Kreeg ogres, to subjugate them and prepare them for assimilation into my lord Mokmurian’s army.”
“For what reason would your master go to war against Varisia?” Draton asked, perplexed.
“To reclaim our birthright,” Barl said proudly, drawing himself up. “Thousands of years past, all of these lands belonged to us and our kin. Our ancestors were betrayed and enslaved by your kind, and now your pathetic race holds all that was once ours!”
“Hold your tongue,” Dexter hissed, “before I slice it out and hold it for you!”
Barl’s belligerence seemed to subside for the moment.
“What of Fort Rannick?” Draton questioned further. “Why did you see fit to send the Kreegs against it?”
Barl shrugged. “The rangers found our lair here on Hook Mountain. They sent their spies here and discovered my presence. They could not be allowed to warn anyone. Their…elimination was simple strategy.”
“Strategy!?” Reaper shouted. “You call those atrocities strategy?”
Barl shrugged again. “Such are the fortunes of war. Collateral damage is often…unavoidable.”
Draton could see the look on the faces of Dexter and Reaper, and he quickly pressed on.
“Where can we find Mokmurian?”
“His fortress, Jorgenfist, is in the Iron Peaks, atop the Storval Plateau,” Barl replied. “I have seen it, though I have never been inside. It is truly a sight to behold,” he said wistfully.
“What of those creatures that attacked us? And the undead thing that was with them?” Draton asked.
“Ah,” Barl chuckled. “The Sisters of the Hook. They were a hag covey who served as allies and consorts of the Kreegs. I don’t think they were very pleased when I took over from the previous chieftain here. I sought to appease them somewhat by providing them with a plaything…the reanimated body of the leader of the Black Arrows. I gave him to them once I’d finished questioning him.”
Now it was Draton’s turn to flush with anger. “That…was Lamatar?” he asked dangerously.
“Yes, now that you mention it,” Barl said pensively, “I think that was his name.”
“Now he dies, right?” Dexter spat bitterly. Barl’s face blanched.
“Wait,” this time it was Reaper who spoke. He had knelt beside one of the dead stone giants, and turned its head so that his companions could see the tattoo on the back of its scalp…the Sihedron Rune. “What is this?”
“Mokmurian’s mark,” Barl said. “He required all of his people to bear it.”
“Then why was Lucrecia marking the people of Turtleback Ferry with it?” Reaper demanded.
“The lamia?” Barl asked, surprised. “I wasn’t aware that she was. She was sent with me by Mokmurian, but she was not under my command. We were…equals. She said she had business in the town on behalf of Mokmurian, but she didn’t tell me the details.”
Reaper nodded to Dexter. The rogue raised his dagger again.
“No!” Barl shouted. “You said you’d spare me! I’ve told you everything! I swear!”
“And your honesty is duly noted,” Dexter said. “I’ll make sure and write it on your tombstone!”
It was Draton again who stayed his hand.
“No,” the priest said. “He has indeed given us valuable information. You say you will do anything, giant. Do you truly mean what you say?”
“Yes!” Barl nodded eagerly.
“Then you should have no problem accepting Sarenrae as your new Mistress, and returning with us to Magnimar to stand trial.”
“What??” Dexter shouted. “Are you insane? He’s admitted everything! He ordered the slaughter at Fort Rannick! He tortured and murdered Lamatar, and then defiled his corpse! He killed Adso right in front of us and then committed this atrocity against him! Now you talk of trials and redemption??”
“Father,” Duerten interrupted, “I hate t’say it, but I kinda agree with th’rogue.”
Draton shook his head. “These things are not for us to decide. Sarenrae has placed this creature in our road for a purpose. We do not question Her will in such things.”
“Well I sure as Hell do!” Reaper said. “Your high morals aside, this is the real world! He’s a mass murderer, and is complicit in plotting war against Varisia! That’s treason at the least!”
“More reason to allow the proper authorities to decide his fate,” Draton said calmly. “I am firm in this decision. I will not allow his life to be taken while I draw breath.”
Reaper was quiet, but his mind worked feverishly. Perhaps the usefulness of this alliance had come to an end…”
_________________________________________________
Before their road could take them back to Magnimar, the six companions had unfinished business. First, they visited Fort Rannick, bearing news of their victory over the Kreegs and of the fate of Lamatar. Shalelu elected to travel with them, bidding her step-father farewell, and promising that she would return. Reaper also promised to return, for he had considered the offer of stewardship over the fort, and he thought that such an endeavor might just suit his purposes well. From Fort Rannick, they journeyed to Turtleback Ferry, and the people there were both frightened and angered when they beheld the shackled figure of Barl Breakbones. The companions were again hailed as heroes, and a feast day was proclaimed in their honor. During their brief respite, Barl was put to work repairing some of the damage caused by the flood. Soon, however, it was time to move on. They still had a promise to fulfill.
They found Whitewillow much as they had left it, and Yap was beside himself with joy at seeing them again, though the sight of the stone giant caused him to quiver so with fright that Sinclair feared his wings might shake off. When Myriana appeared once more, it was only Barl that she struck blind with her terrible power.
“Well?” she demanded. “Have you returned what I have lost?”
Draton nodded silently, and drew from his belt pouch a lock of Lamatar’s hair.
“My beloved,” Myriana whispered, her face softening. “You have my gratitude,” she said, not unkindly.
“Then perhaps you would grant us one final boon,” Dexter said, stepping boldly forward.
“Dexter, what are you doing?” Reaper hissed.
In answer, the rogue reached into his own pouch and pulled out what appeared to be a finger bone.
“You said that you could restore Lamatar to life,” Dex began. “One of our own died so that we might return your lover to you. Can you do the same for him?”
Myriana looked pensive. “What I offer is not resurrection as you might know it,” she said at length. “I can do what you ask, but be warned, your companion may not be as you remember him.”
“Then do it,” Dex said, throwing Draton a caustic look before the priest could protest.
Myriana instructed Dexter to place the bone on the ground. When he complied, she began whispering, gathering power to her as a strong wind began blowing through the willow trees. To the stunned amazement of the onlookers, the small bone began to grow flesh, and then more bone, until, within moments, an intact hand lay there. The process continued, and an arm followed. Slowly, the nymph’s magic constructed an entirely new body for Adso.
“Ah,” she murmured, “blood calls to blood.”
After what seemed like hours, the companions stood staring in disbelief as Adso slowly blinked open his eyes.
“What are you all looking at?” the now-full-blooded orc asked suspiciously…
Yeah I know he doesnt have 0 level spells i was wondering if you guys changed it or not
Hammerhead
Explorer
He also seems to have magic missile. What gives? The Expanded Learning ACF from the Warmage spilling over to the Necromancer? Or does he have those cheesy magic gloves?
Joachim
First Post
Yes, I have the gloves from the Raiment of the Four...as a matter of fact, I now have a full set of the Raiment of the Four, so it effectively adds some spells to my list a few times a day.
WarEagleDex
First Post
Come on, I'm sure nobody in this game uses anything that is kinda cheesy.. Book of nine what?
Guesse i will get a template going for u guys
Crueman Jones (Human) aka PC number 6
8Fighter 1exotic wpns master
90HP
16str
18dex
16con
11wis
8int
7cha
Saves: Fort 13 Ref 8 Will 7
AC 21
Skills: Craft Wpn +11 acrobatics +11
Init +8
Base attack: +2 Large Great bow +20/15 Dmg 2d8+10
Feats:
Iron Will ,Country born, Exotic Wpn profiency(GreatBow),PointBlankshot, Rapid shot, Manyshot, Deadly aim, Precise shot, Deadly aim, Improved init, Wpn focus(GreatBow),Wpn Specilization(GreatBow), Greater wpns focus(GreatBow), Ranged wpn mastery (piercing)
Class Features:
Bravery +2 vs fear
Armor training +2
Wpn Training +1 (Bows)
Equipment:
Boots of dimension step, Hewards Haversac, Effienct quiver, Strong arm bracer,400 arrows, 100cold iron arrows, 100 silver arrows, MW Longsword, Cloak of res +2, Breast plate, Mw tools, 2xoil of bless wpn
What Makes Me Special:(Thought i add this)
Full out attack is Manyshot, Rapid shot, Deadly aim.(non pointblank) 14/9/14 2d8+14 Many shot adds an extra arrow to the first shot. All hits will add up to 8d8+56
avg dmg=88
Crueman Jones (Human) aka PC number 6
8Fighter 1exotic wpns master
90HP
16str
18dex
16con
11wis
8int
7cha
Saves: Fort 13 Ref 8 Will 7
AC 21
Skills: Craft Wpn +11 acrobatics +11
Init +8
Base attack: +2 Large Great bow +20/15 Dmg 2d8+10
Feats:
Iron Will ,Country born, Exotic Wpn profiency(GreatBow),PointBlankshot, Rapid shot, Manyshot, Deadly aim, Precise shot, Deadly aim, Improved init, Wpn focus(GreatBow),Wpn Specilization(GreatBow), Greater wpns focus(GreatBow), Ranged wpn mastery (piercing)
Class Features:
Bravery +2 vs fear
Armor training +2
Wpn Training +1 (Bows)
Equipment:
Boots of dimension step, Hewards Haversac, Effienct quiver, Strong arm bracer,400 arrows, 100cold iron arrows, 100 silver arrows, MW Longsword, Cloak of res +2, Breast plate, Mw tools, 2xoil of bless wpn
What Makes Me Special:(Thought i add this)
Full out attack is Manyshot, Rapid shot, Deadly aim.(non pointblank) 14/9/14 2d8+14 Many shot adds an extra arrow to the first shot. All hits will add up to 8d8+56
avg dmg=88
I was wondering what was up with manyshot/full attack, since I'm used to 3.5. I have the pathfinder Beta, but haven't delved too deeply. I think I like the pathfinder way better.
Hmmm... I had a question about something else, but it seems to have left me...
Oh, now I remember, Where is the Battle Cleric build found?
Guess I'll go back to re-reading JD & crew's Shackled City SH until the next update.
Enjoying the tale.
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