Shemeska's Planescape Storyhour (Updated 29 Jan 2014)
Ohtar Turinson
Explorer
Gez said:
The Keeper of the Tower on Gehenna, I'd assume...
Shemeska
Adventurer
*giggle fit*
God that is so wrong... so incredibly wrong. But adorable.
And yeah, the one giving Vorky bunnyears is Helekanalaith.
Here's an earlier picture with Helekanalaith on the far left which makes it easy to see where the carebear 'loth version of him came from.
Of course this just means that the next time Vorky appears in the SH, I'll just have to make him more evil. *glances at a partially written excerpt* Done.
God that is so wrong... so incredibly wrong. But adorable.
And yeah, the one giving Vorky bunnyears is Helekanalaith.
Here's an earlier picture with Helekanalaith on the far left which makes it easy to see where the carebear 'loth version of him came from.
Of course this just means that the next time Vorky appears in the SH, I'll just have to make him more evil. *glances at a partially written excerpt* Done.
Who is the picture in the above link by? It does not seem to consitent with Fyrehowl's style, but its not (overly) reminisant of the picture done of Shylara(sp?) and Vorkanis done way back on page #9. At any rate, its good (as are the Care-a-loths, in a completely different way).
Shemeska
Adventurer
Clueless said:An artist friend that we know locally - she's not doing quite as much in that style anymore but we can certainly hook you up with her if you'd like to commission work.
She's also going nuts at the moment doing some paid comic work and an animation offer she got the other day, so I dunno what her commish list looks like at the moment. She has a distinctive style.
I will say that I adore the style of the artist from the pic on page 9, and I'll eventually try to commission a pic from her of Nisha.
PhoenixDarkDirk
First Post
Shemeska
Adventurer
Short update, but 2 in one week to catch up for none last week.
Fyrehowl’s eyes were wide as she gazed at the fading nimbus of light that surrounded the face of The Lady.
“Guys… f*ck…”
“What she said…” Nisha said without her usual flippancy.
“Don’t look at me,” Tristol said nervously, “I don’t have any better of an idea of what happened than you do.”
“Not like we have any other way out of here…” Skalliska muttered under her breath before switching into an obscure kobold dialect and adding some additional, and very colorful, thoughts on the matter that included numerous references to ‘I’m not getting paid enough for this’ and ‘Dammit I can’t make fun of Her’.
“So. Who wants to go first and join Clueless?” Toras asked, very obviously not taking a step forward.
Florian sighed. “Fine…”
The cleric edged towards the mosaic with a plaintive look, clearly dreading touching it. For all she and the others knew, it was simply a death trap and nothing more. But otherwise it was a likely death by dehydration or starvation, given that the halls wrapped back on themselves.
“Hmm… doesn’t look like anything is happening.” Florian said as she stepped out onto the tiles of the mosaic.
“There’s…” Florian’s voice was suddenly snuffed as she vanished in a burst of white light as the eyes of The Lady opened and shut without comment.
“Oh hell, we all have to do this now don’t we?” Toras asked rhetorically.
Meanwhile Skalliska was still softly cursing in a variant of undercommon.
“Me next!” Nisha said as she jumped headfirst towards the mosaic.
“Gaaah!” Tristol exclaimed as the tiefling vanished an inch before she would have hit the ground face first.
And still Skalliska cursed softly in undercommon, only now she was kicking the wall with her foot. It ended when Toras shoved her onto the mosaic.
“That really wasn’t needed you know.” Tristol said to the fighter.
“No, but it sure as hell was fun. And dammit, if I’m about to be incinerated, mazed, or killed by something creepy, I’m having fun before I go out.” Toras said with a laugh, right before he stepped into a flash of light from The Lady’s eyes.
Tristol and Fyrehowl glanced at each other.
“So is the cadence telling you this is a piss poor idea?” Tristol asked the cipher.
“It’s not saying jack. I’m scared sh*tless for reasons all my own. Some things you don’t need to be able to feel the inner workings of the planes to know that they’re a bad idea.”
“Aaaand this would be one of them right?”
“Yeah. Pretty much, yeah.” Fyrehowl replied. “You or me?”
Tristol shrugged and stepped forward, vanishing in a flash of light like all the others.
Fyrehowl sighed, glanced around and then down at the serene, emotionless face on the mosaic. “Oh hells…”
And then she was gone. The mosaic of Her Serenity was unchanged and placid, with only the eyes slowly closing and sealing off their inner light. And then, it too was gone.
“If this is death, or if I just got mazed with all of you berks, I’m going to be really bored and unhappy.” Skalliska said as he picked herself up off of the floor and glanced back at Toras.
Toras just grinned puckishly as he and the others glanced at their surroundings.
They stood in another room, the walls made of dressed and fitted stone. A single passage stretched out as the only exit and a pale light suffused the area from no specific location. It was cold but the air was still and stagnant, at least till a voice rang out in their minds.
“Welcome to the Maze of the Jester. There is but one exit from this place. Find it or perish.”
“Maze of the Jester?” Skalliska asked openly.
“That wasn’t Jeremo’s voice…” Fyrehowl said.
“Jeremo didn’t have that title before he took over the Palace of the Jester did he?” Clueless mused.
“Just a guess, but whoever built this little funhouse was probably one of Jeremo’s predecessors.” Florian said, hazarding a guess.
“I’m not getting paid enough for this.” Skalliska said as she started to walk off down the passage. “But I’m not getting paid at all unless we get out of here. Come on.”
The others glanced around, shrugged, and having no other recourse they followed after the kobold down the passage. A short time later, the hall eventually reached a fork.
“Alright, I say we go right.” Nisha said with a chuckle.
The others followed her gaze to the left passage where a massive block of rusted iron blocked most of the passage. Several skeletal limbs jutted out awkwardly from under the iron.
“Funhouse…” The kobold muttered as they glanced at the bodies, at least two or three, whose desiccated remains lay crushed by the several tons of metal.
“Well, at least we know to expect traps…” Nisha said as she started paying more attention to where she was walking.
“Anyone have any way to get through that block in the other hallway? Otherwise we’re pretty much stuck going the way Nisha suggests.” Skalliska asked.
“Because Nisha is always right.” Clueless said.
“Except when she’s not.” Tristol commented.
“Now you’re catching on.” The tiefling said with a chuckle.
The kobold considered just how impossible it would be to move the rusted block. Honestly it looked like it hadn’t been moved in centuries. All that remained were bones and dried flecks of blood spattered on the stone.
“Alright, we go to the right.” Toras said.
“We may have blundered into a broken down funhouse guys. That trap didn’t reset after the last time it killed whoever those poor berks were. Stuff may not work or it may just be automated by magic. Hopefully there’s still a viable way out. That’s all I’m hoping for.” Skalliska mused with a worry. “Definitely did not get offered enough jink for this.”
As they progressed down the open passage, the hallway turned to the right abruptly and opened into a small chamber. A single monstrous figure dominated a platform in the center of the room. Its appearance generated a flurry of startled shouts and a number of blades being drawn before they realized that it was inanimate.
“Not enough jink indeed…” Clueless speculated as he gazed up at the statue.
Life sized and intricately carved, looking half alive as if it might animate at any second, the statue was a perfect model in steel and gold of a Bebelith. The demon spider and hunter of Tanar’ri glared down at them from eyes fashioned in chips of crystal set in sockets of gleaming gold. Its mandibles were wide as if about to devour its prey, and its legs were spread as if it might suddenly leap up off of the platform it was nestled upon.
“Wow…” Skalliska said as she mentally began to appraise the worth of even a fraction of the statue.
“Hey Tristol? There’s something written on the base of the dais here, can you translate it?” Toras said as he pointed to a series of verses written beneath the golden fangs of the leering monstrosity.
“Nobody touch it, alright? I just have a bad feeling about this…” Fyrehowl said as she cradled her sword in her arms.
Tristol walked over to the statue and examined the verses, all of it written in a dialect of Abyssal. He translated:
Long we live, and long we weave. Till we have filled this space. Then, as before, we will leave. To hunt another place. Our task ends when the weak are gone. Then fill new spaces with our spawn.
“Yeah, not touching it…” Tristol said as he finished reading the poem.
“Neither am I actually. I can’t find any traps, nor is it magical as far as I can tell. But… no.” Skalliska said with regret as she turned away from the hulking, elegantly grotesque statue.
As they walked away and further down the hallway, the crystalline eyes of the fiend glittered in the light, and somewhere, something smiled and the walls moved in accordance.
Thirty feet further, the hallway opened to another room.
“Do. Not. Touch.” Florian said as they gazed inside.
Within, the chamber was supported by three columns, each decorated with carved scenes of war, strife and death. Each bore the image of the Reaper, astride a nightmare or skeletal horse collecting its allotment of the fallen and ushering their souls to torment or paradise. Bas-reliefs of battles, executions, plague and famine decorated the corners of the chamber drawing a macabre appreciation. But there in the center of the chamber, lying prone atop a slab of cold black marble lay the broken form of a Marut. Its armor was broken and battered, covered in furious gouges and slashes that sunk deep into its metallic skin. Likewise pitting by acid and flame, it lay in state. The severed head of the Inevitable lay next to the body, ripped and twisted free rather than cleanly cut. Carved in a variant of draconic and infernal, a single, ironic refrain was repeated on the slab and on each of the three columns:
“Whether by age, plague, war, or the hangman’s noose, the inevitability of death waits for none.”
Fyrehowl’s eyes were wide as she gazed at the fading nimbus of light that surrounded the face of The Lady.
“Guys… f*ck…”
“What she said…” Nisha said without her usual flippancy.
“Don’t look at me,” Tristol said nervously, “I don’t have any better of an idea of what happened than you do.”
“Not like we have any other way out of here…” Skalliska muttered under her breath before switching into an obscure kobold dialect and adding some additional, and very colorful, thoughts on the matter that included numerous references to ‘I’m not getting paid enough for this’ and ‘Dammit I can’t make fun of Her’.
“So. Who wants to go first and join Clueless?” Toras asked, very obviously not taking a step forward.
Florian sighed. “Fine…”
The cleric edged towards the mosaic with a plaintive look, clearly dreading touching it. For all she and the others knew, it was simply a death trap and nothing more. But otherwise it was a likely death by dehydration or starvation, given that the halls wrapped back on themselves.
“Hmm… doesn’t look like anything is happening.” Florian said as she stepped out onto the tiles of the mosaic.
“There’s…” Florian’s voice was suddenly snuffed as she vanished in a burst of white light as the eyes of The Lady opened and shut without comment.
“Oh hell, we all have to do this now don’t we?” Toras asked rhetorically.
Meanwhile Skalliska was still softly cursing in a variant of undercommon.
“Me next!” Nisha said as she jumped headfirst towards the mosaic.
“Gaaah!” Tristol exclaimed as the tiefling vanished an inch before she would have hit the ground face first.
And still Skalliska cursed softly in undercommon, only now she was kicking the wall with her foot. It ended when Toras shoved her onto the mosaic.
“That really wasn’t needed you know.” Tristol said to the fighter.
“No, but it sure as hell was fun. And dammit, if I’m about to be incinerated, mazed, or killed by something creepy, I’m having fun before I go out.” Toras said with a laugh, right before he stepped into a flash of light from The Lady’s eyes.
Tristol and Fyrehowl glanced at each other.
“So is the cadence telling you this is a piss poor idea?” Tristol asked the cipher.
“It’s not saying jack. I’m scared sh*tless for reasons all my own. Some things you don’t need to be able to feel the inner workings of the planes to know that they’re a bad idea.”
“Aaaand this would be one of them right?”
“Yeah. Pretty much, yeah.” Fyrehowl replied. “You or me?”
Tristol shrugged and stepped forward, vanishing in a flash of light like all the others.
Fyrehowl sighed, glanced around and then down at the serene, emotionless face on the mosaic. “Oh hells…”
And then she was gone. The mosaic of Her Serenity was unchanged and placid, with only the eyes slowly closing and sealing off their inner light. And then, it too was gone.
***
“If this is death, or if I just got mazed with all of you berks, I’m going to be really bored and unhappy.” Skalliska said as he picked herself up off of the floor and glanced back at Toras.
Toras just grinned puckishly as he and the others glanced at their surroundings.
They stood in another room, the walls made of dressed and fitted stone. A single passage stretched out as the only exit and a pale light suffused the area from no specific location. It was cold but the air was still and stagnant, at least till a voice rang out in their minds.
“Welcome to the Maze of the Jester. There is but one exit from this place. Find it or perish.”
“Maze of the Jester?” Skalliska asked openly.
“That wasn’t Jeremo’s voice…” Fyrehowl said.
“Jeremo didn’t have that title before he took over the Palace of the Jester did he?” Clueless mused.
“Just a guess, but whoever built this little funhouse was probably one of Jeremo’s predecessors.” Florian said, hazarding a guess.
“I’m not getting paid enough for this.” Skalliska said as she started to walk off down the passage. “But I’m not getting paid at all unless we get out of here. Come on.”
The others glanced around, shrugged, and having no other recourse they followed after the kobold down the passage. A short time later, the hall eventually reached a fork.
“Alright, I say we go right.” Nisha said with a chuckle.
The others followed her gaze to the left passage where a massive block of rusted iron blocked most of the passage. Several skeletal limbs jutted out awkwardly from under the iron.
“Funhouse…” The kobold muttered as they glanced at the bodies, at least two or three, whose desiccated remains lay crushed by the several tons of metal.
“Well, at least we know to expect traps…” Nisha said as she started paying more attention to where she was walking.
“Anyone have any way to get through that block in the other hallway? Otherwise we’re pretty much stuck going the way Nisha suggests.” Skalliska asked.
“Because Nisha is always right.” Clueless said.
“Except when she’s not.” Tristol commented.
“Now you’re catching on.” The tiefling said with a chuckle.
The kobold considered just how impossible it would be to move the rusted block. Honestly it looked like it hadn’t been moved in centuries. All that remained were bones and dried flecks of blood spattered on the stone.
“Alright, we go to the right.” Toras said.
“We may have blundered into a broken down funhouse guys. That trap didn’t reset after the last time it killed whoever those poor berks were. Stuff may not work or it may just be automated by magic. Hopefully there’s still a viable way out. That’s all I’m hoping for.” Skalliska mused with a worry. “Definitely did not get offered enough jink for this.”
As they progressed down the open passage, the hallway turned to the right abruptly and opened into a small chamber. A single monstrous figure dominated a platform in the center of the room. Its appearance generated a flurry of startled shouts and a number of blades being drawn before they realized that it was inanimate.
“Not enough jink indeed…” Clueless speculated as he gazed up at the statue.
Life sized and intricately carved, looking half alive as if it might animate at any second, the statue was a perfect model in steel and gold of a Bebelith. The demon spider and hunter of Tanar’ri glared down at them from eyes fashioned in chips of crystal set in sockets of gleaming gold. Its mandibles were wide as if about to devour its prey, and its legs were spread as if it might suddenly leap up off of the platform it was nestled upon.
“Wow…” Skalliska said as she mentally began to appraise the worth of even a fraction of the statue.
“Hey Tristol? There’s something written on the base of the dais here, can you translate it?” Toras said as he pointed to a series of verses written beneath the golden fangs of the leering monstrosity.
“Nobody touch it, alright? I just have a bad feeling about this…” Fyrehowl said as she cradled her sword in her arms.
Tristol walked over to the statue and examined the verses, all of it written in a dialect of Abyssal. He translated:
Long we live, and long we weave. Till we have filled this space. Then, as before, we will leave. To hunt another place. Our task ends when the weak are gone. Then fill new spaces with our spawn.
“Yeah, not touching it…” Tristol said as he finished reading the poem.
“Neither am I actually. I can’t find any traps, nor is it magical as far as I can tell. But… no.” Skalliska said with regret as she turned away from the hulking, elegantly grotesque statue.
As they walked away and further down the hallway, the crystalline eyes of the fiend glittered in the light, and somewhere, something smiled and the walls moved in accordance.
Thirty feet further, the hallway opened to another room.
“Do. Not. Touch.” Florian said as they gazed inside.
Within, the chamber was supported by three columns, each decorated with carved scenes of war, strife and death. Each bore the image of the Reaper, astride a nightmare or skeletal horse collecting its allotment of the fallen and ushering their souls to torment or paradise. Bas-reliefs of battles, executions, plague and famine decorated the corners of the chamber drawing a macabre appreciation. But there in the center of the chamber, lying prone atop a slab of cold black marble lay the broken form of a Marut. Its armor was broken and battered, covered in furious gouges and slashes that sunk deep into its metallic skin. Likewise pitting by acid and flame, it lay in state. The severed head of the Inevitable lay next to the body, ripped and twisted free rather than cleanly cut. Carved in a variant of draconic and infernal, a single, ironic refrain was repeated on the slab and on each of the three columns:
“Whether by age, plague, war, or the hangman’s noose, the inevitability of death waits for none.”
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