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Lazybones's Keep on the Shadowfell/Thunderspire Labyrinth
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<blockquote data-quote="Lazybones" data-source="post: 4610204" data-attributes="member: 143"><p>Chapter 63</p><p></p><p></p><p>Dark powers caressed the priest of Orcus, impinging upon his consciousness like the soft touch of a lover. Kalarel lost all awareness of his body as he floated within that wave of pure sensation, a darkness that pulsed in rhythm with the core of his corrupt soul. </p><p></p><p>A voice drew him back, tore him from that black embrace into the harsh confines of his flesh. Around him the surges of the ritual continued, undiluted, slowly building in intensity. </p><p></p><p>He let the annoyance he felt touch his face as he turned toward the intruder. Drathek was still a young man, powerfully built, but touched by that certain hungriness, that slightly gaunt look that came to haunt all followers of the demon god. Sinister fetishes and unholy icons decorated his mail, decorations that Kalarel no longer felt necessary. One look into the eyes of the senior priest was sufficient to identify his commitment to his cause, he needed no physical augments to reinforce that. </p><p></p><p>Now those eyes fixed upon Drathek, and the younger priest could not suppress a shudder. Kalarel’s lips twisted into a slight smile. </p><p></p><p>“Forgive me, great one,” Drathek said. “But the intruders have won through to the second level. They defeated the traps and the zombie guardians, although the clay scout reports that they have retreated for now, back into the complex vacated by the hobgoblins.” Drathek’s mouth twinged at that last; he had been responsible for the hiring of the goblinoid mercenaries, and he felt both anger at their desertion and some fear that he might be held accountable for their failure. </p><p></p><p>Kalarel waved a hand. “It is of no matter. Soon it will be too late, both for these champions of the light, and for Nentir Vale. And then, the lands beyond will feel the touch of the Shadow upon the world.”</p><p></p><p>“They will stop you,” a faint voice said from nearby. </p><p></p><p>Kalarel and Drathek both turned to view the speaker. He was affixed to the wall nearby, bound with wires that had bitten deep into the flesh of his wrists, ankles, and neck. His clothes hung in a wreckage from his torso, and failed to hide the marks of torture upon him. There was something slightly odd about his features, which gave him a slight air of mystery until one noticed the faint hints that indicated a mixed human-elven ancestry. A black mark of a skull with broad horns had been burned into his forehead, but a hint of fire still burned in his eyes. </p><p></p><p>There were five other captives sprawled out on the floor in front of the half-elf, unconscious and bound with simple ropes that pinned their arms and legs. They had not suffered the same degree of abuse as the half-elf, but their tattered clothes, the remains of simple peasant garb, were dirty and soiled with blood. None so much as stirred as the two priests of Orcus approached the half-elf bound to the wall. </p><p></p><p>“You may as well kill me,” the half-elf said, the words clearly taking an effort to get out. He seemed to be on the verge of falling into the unconsciousness that gripped the other captives. “I will never betray my god. The Lord of Light will claim my soul, once it is free of this corrupt place.”</p><p></p><p>Drathek’s expression darkened, and he started to take a step forward, but Kalarel merely shook his head. “No,” the elder cleric said. “No, I think not, Kevan. Now it is time for the Light to succumb to the Shadow.”</p><p></p><p>Kevan’s head lowered, and for a moment it looked as though he’d passed out; after a moment, though, the clerics could hear him muttering to himself under his breath, no doubt a prayer to his faraway god. </p><p></p><p>“He is strong in his faith,” Drathek said. </p><p></p><p>Kalarel smiled. “It is that which will make him useful to me.”</p><p></p><p>Drathek turned to face his superior. “Let me take the berserkers up and finish off the intruders. They are weakened, now, and will be vulnerable.”</p><p></p><p>“No,” Kalarel said. </p><p></p><p>“But…” Drathek began, only to trail off as Kalarel raised an eyebrow. “Say what you wish to say,” the older priest finally said. </p><p></p><p>“I know that the ritual is paramount, great one. But our forces are depleted. I will defend the upper shrine to my death, of course, but I only have the two warriors at my command. If they should get past me…”</p><p></p><p>Kalarel smirked. “Still you doubt my power?”</p><p></p><p>“No, great one!” </p><p></p><p>Kalarel had turned back to the great portal, at the shimmering field of dark within the ancient stone arch. He walked over to the design etched upon the floor before it, and stepped within. Frissons of magical power flared around the ancient markings, until they seemed almost alive. “Bring the prisoners to me,” he commanded. “Lay them here before the Shadow.”</p><p></p><p>Drathek obeyed. The cleric was strong, and he had no difficulty with the peasants; a few of them groaned when touched, but none of them regained full consciousness. The cleric of Pelor, Kevan, struggled when Drathek unfastened him from the wall, but he was too weak to do more than annoy the priest of Orcus. Drathek finally smashed him across the face with a gauntleted fist, and the half-elf subsided into a dazed stupor. Drathek deposited him upon the rune-carving with the other prisoners, who formed a ring around Kalarel. </p><p></p><p>The senior priest paid no heed; he was lost in some sort of a trance, his arms slowly coming up and spreading as he stared into the dark portal to the Shadowfell. Uncomfortable sounds came from his lips, forming a jarring chant that caused ripples to swell within the portal. Even as Drathek dropped the half-elf and stepped back, Kalarel shrieked a command, and the portal obeyed. Dark tendrils of shadow-stuff tore free and probed out into the room, twining out toward the evil cleric. Drathek darted back hastily, giving those filaments a very wide berth, but Kalarel was unconcerned, resuming his chant, a look of exultation spreading across his face as his power waxed. The tentacles continued to swell, and as they passed over the rune-circle they seemed to take on a more solid substance, their surface glistening like a slick of oil. For a moment it looked as though they would envelop Kalarel, but the cleric held them in thrall, and after a momentary hesitation they dipped down toward the bound prisoners. As the tips of the black tendrils passed into the body of each of the captives their bodies tensed, and their skin grew flush for a moment, before fading to a pale, waxy gray.</p><p></p><p>The last to succumb was Kevan, the priest of Pelor, who had watched the entire scene with a growing horror. Bright red blood trailed from his wrists and ankles as he tried unsuccessfully to part the wires that bound him. As another black tendril extended toward him he tried to squirm out of the rune circle, but he was too weak to do anything more than roll over onto his back. A prayer froze on his lips, and as the dark probing member of shadow-stuff drew closer, filling his vision, all he could do was scream, a hollow sound that filled the cavernous interior of the temple, echoing off the walls until it faded into a silence full of terror.</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Lazybones, post: 4610204, member: 143"] Chapter 63 Dark powers caressed the priest of Orcus, impinging upon his consciousness like the soft touch of a lover. Kalarel lost all awareness of his body as he floated within that wave of pure sensation, a darkness that pulsed in rhythm with the core of his corrupt soul. A voice drew him back, tore him from that black embrace into the harsh confines of his flesh. Around him the surges of the ritual continued, undiluted, slowly building in intensity. He let the annoyance he felt touch his face as he turned toward the intruder. Drathek was still a young man, powerfully built, but touched by that certain hungriness, that slightly gaunt look that came to haunt all followers of the demon god. Sinister fetishes and unholy icons decorated his mail, decorations that Kalarel no longer felt necessary. One look into the eyes of the senior priest was sufficient to identify his commitment to his cause, he needed no physical augments to reinforce that. Now those eyes fixed upon Drathek, and the younger priest could not suppress a shudder. Kalarel’s lips twisted into a slight smile. “Forgive me, great one,” Drathek said. “But the intruders have won through to the second level. They defeated the traps and the zombie guardians, although the clay scout reports that they have retreated for now, back into the complex vacated by the hobgoblins.” Drathek’s mouth twinged at that last; he had been responsible for the hiring of the goblinoid mercenaries, and he felt both anger at their desertion and some fear that he might be held accountable for their failure. Kalarel waved a hand. “It is of no matter. Soon it will be too late, both for these champions of the light, and for Nentir Vale. And then, the lands beyond will feel the touch of the Shadow upon the world.” “They will stop you,” a faint voice said from nearby. Kalarel and Drathek both turned to view the speaker. He was affixed to the wall nearby, bound with wires that had bitten deep into the flesh of his wrists, ankles, and neck. His clothes hung in a wreckage from his torso, and failed to hide the marks of torture upon him. There was something slightly odd about his features, which gave him a slight air of mystery until one noticed the faint hints that indicated a mixed human-elven ancestry. A black mark of a skull with broad horns had been burned into his forehead, but a hint of fire still burned in his eyes. There were five other captives sprawled out on the floor in front of the half-elf, unconscious and bound with simple ropes that pinned their arms and legs. They had not suffered the same degree of abuse as the half-elf, but their tattered clothes, the remains of simple peasant garb, were dirty and soiled with blood. None so much as stirred as the two priests of Orcus approached the half-elf bound to the wall. “You may as well kill me,” the half-elf said, the words clearly taking an effort to get out. He seemed to be on the verge of falling into the unconsciousness that gripped the other captives. “I will never betray my god. The Lord of Light will claim my soul, once it is free of this corrupt place.” Drathek’s expression darkened, and he started to take a step forward, but Kalarel merely shook his head. “No,” the elder cleric said. “No, I think not, Kevan. Now it is time for the Light to succumb to the Shadow.” Kevan’s head lowered, and for a moment it looked as though he’d passed out; after a moment, though, the clerics could hear him muttering to himself under his breath, no doubt a prayer to his faraway god. “He is strong in his faith,” Drathek said. Kalarel smiled. “It is that which will make him useful to me.” Drathek turned to face his superior. “Let me take the berserkers up and finish off the intruders. They are weakened, now, and will be vulnerable.” “No,” Kalarel said. “But…” Drathek began, only to trail off as Kalarel raised an eyebrow. “Say what you wish to say,” the older priest finally said. “I know that the ritual is paramount, great one. But our forces are depleted. I will defend the upper shrine to my death, of course, but I only have the two warriors at my command. If they should get past me…” Kalarel smirked. “Still you doubt my power?” “No, great one!” Kalarel had turned back to the great portal, at the shimmering field of dark within the ancient stone arch. He walked over to the design etched upon the floor before it, and stepped within. Frissons of magical power flared around the ancient markings, until they seemed almost alive. “Bring the prisoners to me,” he commanded. “Lay them here before the Shadow.” Drathek obeyed. The cleric was strong, and he had no difficulty with the peasants; a few of them groaned when touched, but none of them regained full consciousness. The cleric of Pelor, Kevan, struggled when Drathek unfastened him from the wall, but he was too weak to do more than annoy the priest of Orcus. Drathek finally smashed him across the face with a gauntleted fist, and the half-elf subsided into a dazed stupor. Drathek deposited him upon the rune-carving with the other prisoners, who formed a ring around Kalarel. The senior priest paid no heed; he was lost in some sort of a trance, his arms slowly coming up and spreading as he stared into the dark portal to the Shadowfell. Uncomfortable sounds came from his lips, forming a jarring chant that caused ripples to swell within the portal. Even as Drathek dropped the half-elf and stepped back, Kalarel shrieked a command, and the portal obeyed. Dark tendrils of shadow-stuff tore free and probed out into the room, twining out toward the evil cleric. Drathek darted back hastily, giving those filaments a very wide berth, but Kalarel was unconcerned, resuming his chant, a look of exultation spreading across his face as his power waxed. The tentacles continued to swell, and as they passed over the rune-circle they seemed to take on a more solid substance, their surface glistening like a slick of oil. For a moment it looked as though they would envelop Kalarel, but the cleric held them in thrall, and after a momentary hesitation they dipped down toward the bound prisoners. As the tips of the black tendrils passed into the body of each of the captives their bodies tensed, and their skin grew flush for a moment, before fading to a pale, waxy gray. The last to succumb was Kevan, the priest of Pelor, who had watched the entire scene with a growing horror. Bright red blood trailed from his wrists and ankles as he tried unsuccessfully to part the wires that bound him. As another black tendril extended toward him he tried to squirm out of the rune circle, but he was too weak to do anything more than roll over onto his back. A prayer froze on his lips, and as the dark probing member of shadow-stuff drew closer, filling his vision, all he could do was scream, a hollow sound that filled the cavernous interior of the temple, echoing off the walls until it faded into a silence full of terror. 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