Menu
News
All News
Dungeons & Dragons
Level Up: Advanced 5th Edition
Pathfinder
Starfinder
Warhammer
2d20 System
Year Zero Engine
Industry News
Reviews
Dragon Reflections
Columns
Weekly Digests
Weekly News Digest
Freebies, Sales & Bundles
RPG Print News
RPG Crowdfunding News
Game Content
ENterplanetary DimENsions
Mythological Figures
Opinion
Worlds of Design
Peregrine's Next
RPG Evolution
Other Columns
From the Freelancing Frontline
Monster ENcyclopedia
WotC/TSR Alumni Look Back
4 Hours w/RSD (Ryan Dancey)
The Road to 3E (Jonathan Tweet)
Greenwood's Realms (Ed Greenwood)
Drawmij's TSR (Jim Ward)
Community
Forums & Topics
Forum List
Latest Posts
Forum list
*Dungeons & Dragons
Level Up: Advanced 5th Edition
D&D Older Editions
*TTRPGs General
*Pathfinder & Starfinder
EN Publishing
*Geek Talk & Media
Search forums
Chat/Discord
Resources
Wiki
Pages
Latest activity
Media
New media
New comments
Search media
Downloads
Latest reviews
Search resources
EN Publishing
Store
EN5ider
Adventures in ZEITGEIST
Awfully Cheerful Engine
What's OLD is NEW
Judge Dredd & The Worlds Of 2000AD
War of the Burning Sky
Level Up: Advanced 5E
Events & Releases
Upcoming Events
Private Events
Featured Events
Socials!
Twitch
YouTube
Facebook (EN Publishing)
Facebook (EN World)
Twitter
Instagram
TikTok
Podcast
Features
Top 5 RPGs Compiled Charts 2004-Present
Adventure Game Industry Market Research Summary (RPGs) V1.0
Ryan Dancey: Acquiring TSR
Q&A With Gary Gygax
D&D Rules FAQs
TSR, WotC, & Paizo: A Comparative History
D&D Pronunciation Guide
Million Dollar TTRPG Kickstarters
Tabletop RPG Podcast Hall of Fame
Eric Noah's Unofficial D&D 3rd Edition News
D&D in the Mainstream
D&D & RPG History
About Morrus
Log in
Register
What's new
Search
Search
Search titles only
By:
Forums & Topics
Forum List
Latest Posts
Forum list
*Dungeons & Dragons
Level Up: Advanced 5th Edition
D&D Older Editions
*TTRPGs General
*Pathfinder & Starfinder
EN Publishing
*Geek Talk & Media
Search forums
Chat/Discord
Menu
Log in
Register
Install the app
Install
The
VOIDRUNNER'S CODEX
is LIVE! Explore new worlds, fight oppressive empires, fend off fearsome aliens, and wield deadly psionics with this comprehensive boxed set expansion for 5E and A5E!
Community
Playing the Game
Story Hour
Lazybones's Keep on the Shadowfell/Thunderspire Labyrinth
JavaScript is disabled. For a better experience, please enable JavaScript in your browser before proceeding.
You are using an out of date browser. It may not display this or other websites correctly.
You should upgrade or use an
alternative browser
.
Reply to thread
Message
<blockquote data-quote="Lazybones" data-source="post: 4630964" data-attributes="member: 143"><p>Chapter 69</p><p></p><p></p><p>The chamber was cavernous, a massive cyst hidden deep under the surface of the world. And it seemed smaller than it was, its furthest edges hidden in a blackness that seemed to gather, waiting.</p><p></p><p>The central part of the room was illuminated fitfully by a half-dozen flickering flames that burned in huge clay jars. Most of the light was gathered at the southern part of the chamber, where a crude but massive stone depiction of the demon god Orcus sat bloated upon a broad flat granite plinth. The flames cast the statue’s features in stark relief, the twisting shadows adding a measure of menace to its unchanging expression. Several cloth mats lay spread out before the statue, tangled and filthy. </p><p></p><p>The chamber was longer on its east-west axis, and in each direction a raised platform rose up off the floor. To the west a pair of lamps flanked a stone altar upon which a book rested, spread open to reveal text marked in spidery, alien runes that seemed to crawl across the pages. The opposite platform culminated in a small pit from which a fetid odor rose, flanked by smaller stone representations of Orcus, these carved in a standing pose, the demon’s hallmark mace clutched against its body. </p><p></p><p>And to the north… there, the portal to the Shadowfell stood. </p><p></p><p>It was a broad arch, easily wide enough to allow a pair of wagons to pass through without crowding. It stood slightly off from the wall, and a courageous, curious fool might have looked behind it, to see that the wall there was solid, unbroken. As one looked upon it from the center of the room, the arch was full of a sinister black plane, one that seemed to take on substance and definition the longer one looked at it. Ripples occasionally twisted through that impossible surface, and impressions of something more tangible, as if something were pressing against the portal from the other side. </p><p></p><p>In the center of the room, trails of red liquid, of the color, consistency, and odor of freshly spilled blood, fell in uneven sheets from a shaft above. They gathered in a shallow pool there, before breaking off to drain through huge metal grates that formed the corners of a square around the pool. Iron chains, slick with blood, dangled from the shaft, the only apparent means of entry or egress from the place, save the black portal. </p><p></p><p>The chamber was occupied; on both the eastern and western platforms, a solitary humanoid figure stood. The one to the east huddled in the lee of one of the Orcus statues, a vague shadow among shadows, while the one to the west stood facing the book, a long cloak failing to fully conceal the hard lines of his form, or the heavy armor that protected him from head to toe. </p><p></p><p>A faint drone filled the air, its origin not quite distinct. </p><p></p><p>The strange scene seemed unchangeable, static. Thus it was somewhat jarring when a pair of ropes suddenly appeared from the shaft, uncoiling in long strands that trailed off into the shallow pool of blood below. They were followed almost immediately by a third, which turned out to be a collection of what looked like blankets, wound up and tied together end to end to form an improvised line. This last strand descended far faster than the first two, as a small figure was attached to its end, drawing it down at a rather precarious speed. The blanket-rope extended as it drew taut, and a sound of ripping cloth came from it as its burden taxed the cheap cloth taken from the hobgoblin quarters. The entire rope quivered and started to come apart, but even as that happened Beetle launched himself free of it, flipping almost effortlessly through the air to land on his feet scant inches from the edge of the blood-pool. The halfling looked at his sleeve where a spot of blood had marked the fabric, and frowned. </p><p></p><p>Meanwhile, Devrem and Mara were coming quickly down the ropes, if not quite as rapidly as their companion’s descent. Their clothes were stained bright red from the fluid cascading down all around them, and their faces were grim as they negotiated the descent. Unlike Beetle they landed right in the center of the pool, the collected liquid splashing around their boots, rising to the level of their ankles. They avoided two limp heaps lying in the pool, the bodies of the berserker and cleric they’d defeated in the battle above. </p><p></p><p>No sooner had Mara touched down than Jaron became visible, sliding down her rope after her. Elevaren took a more direct route; the eladrin materialized via <em>fey step</em> at the edge of the blood pool, emerging from the fading sparkles of his magic, stepping away from the trailing streamers of falling blood. </p><p></p><p>Mara drew her swords; she looked left and right, noticing at once the two shadowy forms upon the platforms. “Which one is the cleric?” she hissed. “Which one is Kalarel?”</p><p></p><p>As if in response to the speaking of his name, the figure on the western platform turned slowly to face them. Kalarel’s face, visible within the open front of his helm, was gaunt and pale in the flickering light. His eyes were closed, and as he turned he slowly lifted his arms, his mouth moving in a silent incantation. They could see the scales of his mail coat under his cloak, and the iron rod topped with a ram’s skull, thrust through his belt within easy reach. </p><p></p><p>The priest seemed unaware of them at first, but as his chant came to an end he opened his eyes, and smiled. “Welcome,” he said to them, and it was as if all the menace in the world had been condensed into those few syllables. </p><p></p><p>“This ends now, priest of Orcus!” Devrem shouted, holding up his staff. Silver flickers of divine energy flared around the iron-shod end. </p><p></p><p>Kalarel’s expression twisted into a slight smirk. “You are wrong, false prophet of Death. No, this is where it <em>begins</em>.”</p><p></p><p>“Enough chatter!” Mara yelled, charging forward through the blood pool toward the priest. Sprays of red sheeted up around her, splattering in bright smears across her armor, sticking in fat droplets to her helmet as she ran. </p><p></p><p>Devrem was right behind her, or at least he started to follow; even as he took his first step the dark figure on the eastern platform lifted a claw and summoned a sinuous blast of writing black energy that streaked across the room. The blast hit Devrem in the small of the back, and tendrils of power flared around him, stabbing into his limbs. The cleric stiffened, and he grimaced as the muscles in his legs locked, freezing him into place. </p><p></p><p>“What in the hells is that?” Jaron cried, dropping down off the last length of chain to land in the middle of the blood pool. Even on him, the sucking fluid barely came halfway up to the tops of his boots, but it made for a treacherous footing. No sooner had he landed was he reaching for an arrow, drawing the bow out from the straps holding it across his back in a quick motion. He quickly scanned the area for Beetle, but the halfling had disappeared from view. </p><p></p><p>Devrem could not move his legs, but he twisted his body to look back. The creature that had thrown the immobilizing bolt was moving along the edge of the eastern platform. As the light from the firebowls caught its features, they could see that it was a fearsome parody of a man, clad in the remnants of what might have once been clothing. There was little about it to indicate that it had once been a man, its current state a mockery of the cleric of Pelor whose body it now inhabited. </p><p></p><p>“It’s a wight!” the cleric yelled, struggling against the effect that held him. He looked back to see that Mara’s charge had likewise been interrupted, as a pair of skeletal warriors had emerged from behind pillars flanking the approach to the western pedestal to block her route to Kalarel. At first she’d simply tried to thrust past, but the skeletons proved far stronger and faster than the rotting undead monsters they’d faced before. Tendons and strings of ligament still connected the pale white bones, binding them together, and giving the creatures a fearsome appearance. The fighter was forced back as one of them slammed its sword heavily into her side, and she barely turned in time to parry the attack of the second, their blades sparking as they clanged loudly together. </p><p></p><p>“Your defiance, while amusing, is ultimately futile,” Kalarel said, drawing out the rod from his belt. He pointed it at Mara, and a glowing red beam erupted from the head of the artifact, playing over the fighter’s body like the light from a bullseye lantern. Mara shrank back from that radiance, which lasted for only a heartbeat, but her companions could see her limbs sag, her strength fading as she struggled to hold her weapons up in a defensive stance. The skeletons moved forward to take advantage. </p><p></p><p>Kalarel shifted his rod to point toward the black portal. “You shall witness the beginning of the end of your world,” he said. </p><p></p><p>As if in response, the black sheen began to distort, and bulged out into the room, probing tendrils forming in the surface like dark claws, grasping at the living intruders into its sanctum, promising a fate worse than death with their touch.</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Lazybones, post: 4630964, member: 143"] Chapter 69 The chamber was cavernous, a massive cyst hidden deep under the surface of the world. And it seemed smaller than it was, its furthest edges hidden in a blackness that seemed to gather, waiting. The central part of the room was illuminated fitfully by a half-dozen flickering flames that burned in huge clay jars. Most of the light was gathered at the southern part of the chamber, where a crude but massive stone depiction of the demon god Orcus sat bloated upon a broad flat granite plinth. The flames cast the statue’s features in stark relief, the twisting shadows adding a measure of menace to its unchanging expression. Several cloth mats lay spread out before the statue, tangled and filthy. The chamber was longer on its east-west axis, and in each direction a raised platform rose up off the floor. To the west a pair of lamps flanked a stone altar upon which a book rested, spread open to reveal text marked in spidery, alien runes that seemed to crawl across the pages. The opposite platform culminated in a small pit from which a fetid odor rose, flanked by smaller stone representations of Orcus, these carved in a standing pose, the demon’s hallmark mace clutched against its body. And to the north… there, the portal to the Shadowfell stood. It was a broad arch, easily wide enough to allow a pair of wagons to pass through without crowding. It stood slightly off from the wall, and a courageous, curious fool might have looked behind it, to see that the wall there was solid, unbroken. As one looked upon it from the center of the room, the arch was full of a sinister black plane, one that seemed to take on substance and definition the longer one looked at it. Ripples occasionally twisted through that impossible surface, and impressions of something more tangible, as if something were pressing against the portal from the other side. In the center of the room, trails of red liquid, of the color, consistency, and odor of freshly spilled blood, fell in uneven sheets from a shaft above. They gathered in a shallow pool there, before breaking off to drain through huge metal grates that formed the corners of a square around the pool. Iron chains, slick with blood, dangled from the shaft, the only apparent means of entry or egress from the place, save the black portal. The chamber was occupied; on both the eastern and western platforms, a solitary humanoid figure stood. The one to the east huddled in the lee of one of the Orcus statues, a vague shadow among shadows, while the one to the west stood facing the book, a long cloak failing to fully conceal the hard lines of his form, or the heavy armor that protected him from head to toe. A faint drone filled the air, its origin not quite distinct. The strange scene seemed unchangeable, static. Thus it was somewhat jarring when a pair of ropes suddenly appeared from the shaft, uncoiling in long strands that trailed off into the shallow pool of blood below. They were followed almost immediately by a third, which turned out to be a collection of what looked like blankets, wound up and tied together end to end to form an improvised line. This last strand descended far faster than the first two, as a small figure was attached to its end, drawing it down at a rather precarious speed. The blanket-rope extended as it drew taut, and a sound of ripping cloth came from it as its burden taxed the cheap cloth taken from the hobgoblin quarters. The entire rope quivered and started to come apart, but even as that happened Beetle launched himself free of it, flipping almost effortlessly through the air to land on his feet scant inches from the edge of the blood-pool. The halfling looked at his sleeve where a spot of blood had marked the fabric, and frowned. Meanwhile, Devrem and Mara were coming quickly down the ropes, if not quite as rapidly as their companion’s descent. Their clothes were stained bright red from the fluid cascading down all around them, and their faces were grim as they negotiated the descent. Unlike Beetle they landed right in the center of the pool, the collected liquid splashing around their boots, rising to the level of their ankles. They avoided two limp heaps lying in the pool, the bodies of the berserker and cleric they’d defeated in the battle above. No sooner had Mara touched down than Jaron became visible, sliding down her rope after her. Elevaren took a more direct route; the eladrin materialized via [i]fey step[/i] at the edge of the blood pool, emerging from the fading sparkles of his magic, stepping away from the trailing streamers of falling blood. Mara drew her swords; she looked left and right, noticing at once the two shadowy forms upon the platforms. “Which one is the cleric?” she hissed. “Which one is Kalarel?” As if in response to the speaking of his name, the figure on the western platform turned slowly to face them. Kalarel’s face, visible within the open front of his helm, was gaunt and pale in the flickering light. His eyes were closed, and as he turned he slowly lifted his arms, his mouth moving in a silent incantation. They could see the scales of his mail coat under his cloak, and the iron rod topped with a ram’s skull, thrust through his belt within easy reach. The priest seemed unaware of them at first, but as his chant came to an end he opened his eyes, and smiled. “Welcome,” he said to them, and it was as if all the menace in the world had been condensed into those few syllables. “This ends now, priest of Orcus!” Devrem shouted, holding up his staff. Silver flickers of divine energy flared around the iron-shod end. Kalarel’s expression twisted into a slight smirk. “You are wrong, false prophet of Death. No, this is where it [i]begins[/i].” “Enough chatter!” Mara yelled, charging forward through the blood pool toward the priest. Sprays of red sheeted up around her, splattering in bright smears across her armor, sticking in fat droplets to her helmet as she ran. Devrem was right behind her, or at least he started to follow; even as he took his first step the dark figure on the eastern platform lifted a claw and summoned a sinuous blast of writing black energy that streaked across the room. The blast hit Devrem in the small of the back, and tendrils of power flared around him, stabbing into his limbs. The cleric stiffened, and he grimaced as the muscles in his legs locked, freezing him into place. “What in the hells is that?” Jaron cried, dropping down off the last length of chain to land in the middle of the blood pool. Even on him, the sucking fluid barely came halfway up to the tops of his boots, but it made for a treacherous footing. No sooner had he landed was he reaching for an arrow, drawing the bow out from the straps holding it across his back in a quick motion. He quickly scanned the area for Beetle, but the halfling had disappeared from view. Devrem could not move his legs, but he twisted his body to look back. The creature that had thrown the immobilizing bolt was moving along the edge of the eastern platform. As the light from the firebowls caught its features, they could see that it was a fearsome parody of a man, clad in the remnants of what might have once been clothing. There was little about it to indicate that it had once been a man, its current state a mockery of the cleric of Pelor whose body it now inhabited. “It’s a wight!” the cleric yelled, struggling against the effect that held him. He looked back to see that Mara’s charge had likewise been interrupted, as a pair of skeletal warriors had emerged from behind pillars flanking the approach to the western pedestal to block her route to Kalarel. At first she’d simply tried to thrust past, but the skeletons proved far stronger and faster than the rotting undead monsters they’d faced before. Tendons and strings of ligament still connected the pale white bones, binding them together, and giving the creatures a fearsome appearance. The fighter was forced back as one of them slammed its sword heavily into her side, and she barely turned in time to parry the attack of the second, their blades sparking as they clanged loudly together. “Your defiance, while amusing, is ultimately futile,” Kalarel said, drawing out the rod from his belt. He pointed it at Mara, and a glowing red beam erupted from the head of the artifact, playing over the fighter’s body like the light from a bullseye lantern. Mara shrank back from that radiance, which lasted for only a heartbeat, but her companions could see her limbs sag, her strength fading as she struggled to hold her weapons up in a defensive stance. The skeletons moved forward to take advantage. Kalarel shifted his rod to point toward the black portal. “You shall witness the beginning of the end of your world,” he said. As if in response, the black sheen began to distort, and bulged out into the room, probing tendrils forming in the surface like dark claws, grasping at the living intruders into its sanctum, promising a fate worse than death with their touch. [/QUOTE]
Insert quotes…
Verification
Post reply
Community
Playing the Game
Story Hour
Lazybones's Keep on the Shadowfell/Thunderspire Labyrinth
Top