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Nebulous's Keep on the Shadowfell (FR)
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<blockquote data-quote="Nebulous" data-source="post: 4626648" data-attributes="member: 31465"><p><span style="font-size: 15px">Adventure #9: Slime Central</span></p><p><span style="color: red"></span></p><p><span style="color: red">[GM Note: After some bookkeeping, magic item updates [using the Adventurer’s Vault] and Realms-related discussion, the session opens with the 2nd cut scene. The 1st cut scene depicted Kalarel with his servant Lord Maw at the end of adventure # 6, right before Kerric kicked his undead ass. This continues Kalarel’s backstory, with a subtle clue that the players did not notice. It has to do with FAMILY…more will follow later (wink wink Brandis). </span></p><p></p><p></p><p style="text-align: center"><strong>CUT SCENE #2</strong></p><p></p><p>Kalarel opened the letter the bat had brought him. It was only a few lines of text, his eyes flitting over them with growing discomfort:</p><p><strong><em></em></strong></p><p><strong><em>Kalarel-</em></strong></p><p><strong><em></em></strong></p><p><strong><em>Ninaran is captured. Your other servant, the dead one, is…deader. Five heroes are alive. Probably returning very soon to the Keep. Three warriors, two spellcasters. What should we do? Awaiting your answer.</em></strong></p><p><strong><em></em></strong></p><p><strong><em>-Shuck</em></strong></p><p></p><p>Kalarel’s features darkened. He crumpled the letter in a fist. “BY THE HORNS OF ORCUS!” he screamed at the room. A violent rage possessed him. He swept an arm across a table of torture implements, scattering razors, hooks and knives to the sticky floor. He kicked a chess table over, smashing the grotesquely modeled pieces under the heel of his boot. Lord Maw would not be playing with him again, win or lose.</p><p></p><p><img src="http://www.med.unc.edu/~saasha/keep/kalangry.jpg" alt="" class="fr-fic fr-dii fr-draggable " style="" /></p><p></p><p>His rage carried him into an open cell where a whimpering, skinny farmer was strung to the wall by his wrists. Kalarel struck him across the face with a gauntlet, cracking his jaw, and then gripped the man’s broken chin, leaning in close to harshly growl: “They’ll not make it this far, not in your lifetime my friend!” He tossed the man away and surged from the cell with a swish of his robes. Outside, dark humanoid things scuttled out of his way like frightened rats, as they might be the next target of his fury.</p><p></p><p>“FOOLS!” shouted Kalarel to no one in particular. “Idiotic, unreliable fools!” He swirled into a wooden chair that threatened to break under his weight, and brooded upon the ill news. Ninaran was captured, and probably divulging all she knew about Kalarel, which was blessedly little. She had been no more than a marionette, her strings easily pulled, as all these mortal fleshbags could be manipulated. </p><p></p><p>Kalarel stroked his stubbly jaw, staring into the recesses of the huge chamber. The pool of blood was close to full, but not full enough, and the time of the Opening drew ever closer. The timeline must be abided by, or he would have to answer to Orcus’s liaison personally. And the implications of failure would be…unpleasant. The priest glanced toward the arching portal situated on the north wall…</p><p></p><p>He rapped his fingers on the armrest, tapped his chin and rolled thoughts around his head. Failure was not an option, oh no, not an option at all. He would not fail, it was inconceivable, and his years of loyal service to Orcus would not be wasted.</p><p></p><p>“I’ll have my gift, Lord,” Kalarel muttered darkly. “I’ll have my gift. I shall open the Rift as promised, and your promise shall be mine…immortal. Deathless. Superior to these weaklings around me. Especially…family.”</p><p></p><p>FAMILY. </p><p></p><p>The memory of his whore mother, dead a whole week, flooded his mind’s eye. Kalarel was with her the entire time—and just nine years old.</p><p></p><p><img src="http://www.med.unc.edu/~saasha/keep/boy.jpg" alt="" class="fr-fic fr-dii fr-draggable " style="" /></p><p></p><p>He sprang up from the chair, shouting again: “I WILL NOT FAIL!” </p><p></p><p>The darkness did not answer him, and seemed to absorb his words like a sponge. In fact, all he heard was the quiet PLOP of cold blood into the pool. He watched concentric ripples spread out, and soon his anger began to abate. He returned to the chair and rummaged through a pocket for a small paper sack. He reached in and removed a lavender jelly baby, popped it in his mouth and solemnly chewed, reached in for a speckled cream, and then a maroon-orange swirl. Flavors burst within his mouth, and new ideas feverishly sparkled in his mind.</p><p></p><p>“Brave warriors and wizards,” he murmured. “Come to my home to stop me. Thinking they can halt the inevitable.” Kalarel stopped chewing the jelly babies. “Brave souls that they are, they will be a worthy sacrifice to our lord. In fact…” and he stood up again, his eyes flashing, “…their blood will be more potent than those pathetic farmers and children in Winterhaven.”</p><p></p><p>He began pacing, boots clicking on black stone. He stopped before the statue of Orcus, its bestial visage bearing down on him with palpable malevolence. </p><p></p><p>“They’ll be perfect, my lord! Especially the chosen of Kelemvor! We know what to expect, we know their strengths and weaknesses, and their bravado will only be a precursor to their screaming demise. Their hot blood shall stain these walls, and the Rift will open faster than ever!”</p><p></p><p>The horrible statue stared at him, and Kalarel could nearly feel the intelligence behind those cold stony eyes. An intelligence, he prayed, that had faith in him.</p><p></p><p>From the recesses of the huge chamber a few dark things shambled toward him, perhaps drawn to his fervor. One creature, with a gaunt emaciated face and pinprick eyes of cold light, bowed once it was closer. Kalarel sneered at it.</p><p></p><p>“I don’t suppose you play chess, do you wight?” The thing did not answer. “I didn’t think so.”</p><p></p><p>But Kalarel knew one fact above all else…</p><p></p><p>The suffering of these so-called “heroes” would soon be legendary—even in the Hells…</p><p></p><p>[/cut scene]</p><p></p><p><span style="color: red">(Many thanks to Socorro for reading this out loud with appropriate hamminess) </span></p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Nebulous, post: 4626648, member: 31465"] [size=4]Adventure #9: Slime Central[/size] [color=red] [GM Note: After some bookkeeping, magic item updates [using the Adventurer’s Vault] and Realms-related discussion, the session opens with the 2nd cut scene. The 1st cut scene depicted Kalarel with his servant Lord Maw at the end of adventure # 6, right before Kerric kicked his undead ass. This continues Kalarel’s backstory, with a subtle clue that the players did not notice. It has to do with FAMILY…more will follow later (wink wink Brandis). [/color] [center][b]CUT SCENE #2[/b][/center] Kalarel opened the letter the bat had brought him. It was only a few lines of text, his eyes flitting over them with growing discomfort: [b][i] Kalarel- Ninaran is captured. Your other servant, the dead one, is…deader. Five heroes are alive. Probably returning very soon to the Keep. Three warriors, two spellcasters. What should we do? Awaiting your answer. -Shuck[/i][/b] Kalarel’s features darkened. He crumpled the letter in a fist. “BY THE HORNS OF ORCUS!” he screamed at the room. A violent rage possessed him. He swept an arm across a table of torture implements, scattering razors, hooks and knives to the sticky floor. He kicked a chess table over, smashing the grotesquely modeled pieces under the heel of his boot. Lord Maw would not be playing with him again, win or lose. [img]http://www.med.unc.edu/~saasha/keep/kalangry.jpg[/img] His rage carried him into an open cell where a whimpering, skinny farmer was strung to the wall by his wrists. Kalarel struck him across the face with a gauntlet, cracking his jaw, and then gripped the man’s broken chin, leaning in close to harshly growl: “They’ll not make it this far, not in your lifetime my friend!” He tossed the man away and surged from the cell with a swish of his robes. Outside, dark humanoid things scuttled out of his way like frightened rats, as they might be the next target of his fury. “FOOLS!” shouted Kalarel to no one in particular. “Idiotic, unreliable fools!” He swirled into a wooden chair that threatened to break under his weight, and brooded upon the ill news. Ninaran was captured, and probably divulging all she knew about Kalarel, which was blessedly little. She had been no more than a marionette, her strings easily pulled, as all these mortal fleshbags could be manipulated. Kalarel stroked his stubbly jaw, staring into the recesses of the huge chamber. The pool of blood was close to full, but not full enough, and the time of the Opening drew ever closer. The timeline must be abided by, or he would have to answer to Orcus’s liaison personally. And the implications of failure would be…unpleasant. The priest glanced toward the arching portal situated on the north wall… He rapped his fingers on the armrest, tapped his chin and rolled thoughts around his head. Failure was not an option, oh no, not an option at all. He would not fail, it was inconceivable, and his years of loyal service to Orcus would not be wasted. “I’ll have my gift, Lord,” Kalarel muttered darkly. “I’ll have my gift. I shall open the Rift as promised, and your promise shall be mine…immortal. Deathless. Superior to these weaklings around me. Especially…family.” FAMILY. The memory of his whore mother, dead a whole week, flooded his mind’s eye. Kalarel was with her the entire time—and just nine years old. [img]http://www.med.unc.edu/~saasha/keep/boy.jpg[/img] He sprang up from the chair, shouting again: “I WILL NOT FAIL!” The darkness did not answer him, and seemed to absorb his words like a sponge. In fact, all he heard was the quiet PLOP of cold blood into the pool. He watched concentric ripples spread out, and soon his anger began to abate. He returned to the chair and rummaged through a pocket for a small paper sack. He reached in and removed a lavender jelly baby, popped it in his mouth and solemnly chewed, reached in for a speckled cream, and then a maroon-orange swirl. Flavors burst within his mouth, and new ideas feverishly sparkled in his mind. “Brave warriors and wizards,” he murmured. “Come to my home to stop me. Thinking they can halt the inevitable.” Kalarel stopped chewing the jelly babies. “Brave souls that they are, they will be a worthy sacrifice to our lord. In fact…” and he stood up again, his eyes flashing, “…their blood will be more potent than those pathetic farmers and children in Winterhaven.” He began pacing, boots clicking on black stone. He stopped before the statue of Orcus, its bestial visage bearing down on him with palpable malevolence. “They’ll be perfect, my lord! Especially the chosen of Kelemvor! We know what to expect, we know their strengths and weaknesses, and their bravado will only be a precursor to their screaming demise. Their hot blood shall stain these walls, and the Rift will open faster than ever!” The horrible statue stared at him, and Kalarel could nearly feel the intelligence behind those cold stony eyes. An intelligence, he prayed, that had faith in him. From the recesses of the huge chamber a few dark things shambled toward him, perhaps drawn to his fervor. One creature, with a gaunt emaciated face and pinprick eyes of cold light, bowed once it was closer. Kalarel sneered at it. “I don’t suppose you play chess, do you wight?” The thing did not answer. “I didn’t think so.” But Kalarel knew one fact above all else… The suffering of these so-called “heroes” would soon be legendary—even in the Hells… [/cut scene] [color=red](Many thanks to Socorro for reading this out loud with appropriate hamminess) [/color] [/QUOTE]
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