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Shilsen's Eberron SH (Finished - The Last Word : 9/20/15)
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<blockquote data-quote="shilsen" data-source="post: 3144905" data-attributes="member: 198"><p>If by "obvious" you mean <em>Lord of the Rings</em>, where Frodo and Sam are being followed by Gollum shortly before they first mee thim, then no.</p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p>That was a damn good one. I've encountered some nice smack-talking from PCs and done some myself, and you guys did some of the best I've heard. That's one thing this group is really good at - confusing powerful NPCs with your smack talking.</p><p></p><p>And now, on to the next instalment:</p><p></p><p>*********************************************************************</p><p> “Ghaash’kala?” asks Korm, working out the rough translation in his mind. <em>Ghost guardians?</em></p><p></p><p>“They live in the Labyrinth, I believe,” says Nameless, “Fighting the creatures of the Wastes.”</p><p></p><p>“You are well informed,” says the Ghaash’kala leader. “I am Morran Shashaarat. We are of the Maruk Ghaash’kala. We dwell here, facing the darkness, ensuring that the taint of the Wastes may not spread to the rest of Khorvaire. Nothing may leave the Wastes without facing us.” The tone is matter of fact, but there is the tiniest hint of pride. He pauses, looking over the Angels. “Or enter.”</p><p></p><p><em>Maruk</em>, thinks Korm. <em>The Mighty</em>. “Interesting.” He notes that four of the Ghaash’kala, after ensuring that the dragons are dead, are moving to either end of the canyon and looking around the area. The others stand in a loose semi-circle around their leader and the Angels, and while none look threatening, each holds a drawn weapon. </p><p></p><p>Korm points to the corpses. “You said you were hunting these?”</p><p></p><p>“Yes. They have killed my people before and we have wanted to kill them for long. We almost captured them, but they escaped. They are sly and tricky creatures. They can mimic any sound they have heard.”</p><p></p><p>The Angels exchange glances, realizing that must have been the source of the cries for help they had heard earlier, as Morran continues, “And they are powerful fighters. You must be skilled to have hurt them so badly.”</p><p></p><p>“Not too bad on your side either,” says Nameless. “Those spells were quite handy.”</p><p></p><p>“Kalok Shash gives us its blessing.”</p><p></p><p>“Kalok Shash?”</p><p></p><p>“The Binding Flame.” Morran taps the sigil on his armor for emphasis. “Kalok Shash is what we are sworn to. It gives us the power to hold these lands. We live for the Flame. We die for the Flame.” There is something about Morran’s matter of fact demeanor that makes the comments seem grim, where they might have otherwise seemed overly flamboyant.</p><p></p><p>“Flame?” asks Gareth.</p><p></p><p>Morran looks at the markings on the paladin’s armor and says, “You worship the Silver Flame, then? We have seen some of your people in the past. I do not know much about it, but the sar’malaan has said that what you call the Silver Flame is Kalok Shash to us.”</p><p></p><p>“Really?” says Six, intrigued. “Shouldn’t you know that, Gareth?”</p><p></p><p>“Never heard of it before, or of Kalok Shash,” says Gareth with a shrug.</p><p></p><p>“And here I thought they made you actually read books at the seminary,” smirks Nameless.</p><p></p><p>“Maybe,” grins Gareth, “But I was home schooled.”</p><p></p><p>Morran interrupts. “Tell me – what are you doing here? Are you here to answer the call of Kalok Shash?”</p><p></p><p>“Not that I know of,” says Nameless. “We are pursuing two rakshasas, who stole something of ours.”</p><p></p><p>“Into the Wastes?”</p><p></p><p>“Yes.”</p><p></p><p>“You are chasing rakshasas into the Wastes,” repeats Morran, sounding curious, rather than surprised. “The Ghaash’kala fight them more often than any people in this world. You are very brave or very foolish.”</p><p></p><p>“Yes,” grins Korm.</p><p></p><p>“What did they steal? It must be very valuable.”</p><p></p><p>Nameless hesitates, and then says, “Yes. It is something powerful and important to us.”</p><p></p><p>Six says, “Wait a minute. Why don’t we tell them everything? All the people who shouldn’t know about it already do. We might as well start talking to people who can help. And anyone who lives here and fights rakshasas is someone who might be able to help us.”</p><p></p><p>Nameless considers for a moment, and then says, “You know what – you’re right. Morran, do you have any leaders we can speak to?”</p><p></p><p>“Yes,” says Morran. “As I said, we do not look kindly on anything entering the Wastes, since, when it tries to leave, it brings the taint with it. But, in view of your help with the dragons, I wish you to come with me. I cannot make a decision, but my brother, Torgaan can. He is our kizshmit, the war leader. And Lharc Shushaa, our sar’malaan, she who speaks to Kalok Shash, should hear you too.”</p><p></p><p>“Excellent. Then let’s go.”</p><p></p><p>“Hold on,” says Korm. “Not before I get some dragon steak.” The eagle Luna, perched on his shoulder through the conversation, screeches her agreement.</p><p></p><p>Morran smiles for the first time. “I would have said that if you had not. Such large meals are not to be wasted.” As he signals, a number of the Ghaash’kala head for the dragon corpses, reaching into bags and sheathes to remove large chopping blades. “Once this is done, I shall take you to…”</p><p></p><p>*****</p><p>“…Maruk Dar,” says Morran, pointing upwards. “This is our home and main fortress, though we have many smaller outposts scattered around the Wastes.”</p><p></p><p>The Angels look up in the light of early evening, which is descending quicker than normal and casting long shadows within the deep gorges of the Labyrinth, at the home of the Maruk Ghaash’kala. Maruk Dar consists of a series of vertical levels carved out of the canyon wall, beginning fifty feet above them and rising in ascending steps until the highest one meets the cliff top two hundred feet above. The levels take advantage of the already sloping cliff, so that each one juts out about ten to twenty feet from the one above. </p><p></p><p>On each level, there are numerous doorways and tunnel openings that lead into the rock face, and scores of the Ghaash’kala move in and out of them. Ropes hang down from each level to the next, apparently serving as the primary means of ascent and descent, though the odd ladder also provides an option for the less dexterous.</p><p></p><p>Dozens of armed warriors now stand looking down at the Angels, but having seen and been hailed by their escort, they now throw down rope ladders, allowing the Angels to half-climb and be half-pulled up to the lowest level, while their guides quickly shimmy up ropes beside them. As soon as they are on solid ground, Morran checks where the kizshmit and sar’malaan are, and, having been told they are on the third level, again leads the Angels upwards. While one member of their escort goes ahead to inform the kizshmit of the newcomers, the rest of their escort, most of them laden with fang dragon meat, skin and bone, quickly leaves them. Other Ghaash’kala quickly fall in behind them. </p><p></p><p>As they proceed, Gareth says quietly to Korm, “For a ‘fortress’, I don’t see much in the way of fortifications.”</p><p></p><p>Overhearing the quiet comment, Marron says, “Fortifications would be difficult to build here. And they are not needed. We are the Ghash’kaala.” Again, though the statement is matter of fact, there is the slightest tinge of pride. “Even the Lords of Dust do not easily attack us here.”</p><p></p><p>“A place where rakshasas prefer not to attack?” says Six appreciatively, “I knew we should tell these guys everything!”</p><p></p><p>As they travel through the chambers and tunnels that lie hidden within Maruk Dar, the Angels notice the almost complete lack of internal decoration. Literally everything they see is utterly functional. The only decoration is the stylized sigil of Kalok Shash that appears on some of the walls, on many Ghash’kaala weapons and armor, and on each of the inhabitants. </p><p></p><p>Eventually, they reach a chamber, different from the others in that it actually has a simple wooden door, unlike the simple curtains that are the only concession to privacy that the Ghaash’kala seem to have. Inside, sitting cross-legged on a pair of woven mats and talking, are a middle-aged woman, who wears a fist-size symbol of Kalok Shash around her neck, and a tall, scarred warrior, who bears a strong resemblance to Morran.</p><p></p><p>Morran, who leads them into the room, introduces the pair as Torgaan Shashaarat, the kizshmit, and Lharc Shushaa, the sar’malaan. Torgaan nods gravely and motions them to seats. “We have already been told of your coming. And you wish to speak to us?”</p><p></p><p>“Yes,” says Nameless, after the group is seated. “We are on a mission that I believe the Ghaash’kala might be interested in.” He proceeds, with the help of the others, to outline everything that has happened regarding the Key, from its discovery to the current moment. Torgaan, Lharc and Morran are quickly hanging on every word.</p><p></p><p>Finally, Nameless finishes, and asks, “Do you know of either Zathara or Nethatar?”</p><p></p><p>“No,” says Lharc, who has asked most of the questions, “But the names of our enemies are not something we usually learn. Your tale is very interesting. I have not heard of such a situation before, though we do sometimes meet people entering the Wastes. As Morran will have told you, we do not support such attempts. But yours is a strange matter. Torgaan and I need to speak of it before we make a decision. Either way, you should stay here tonight.”</p><p></p><p>“Thank you,” says Nameless, and the others do so as well. </p><p></p><p>As they are about to leave, Lharc adds, “We will be having a short ceremony today, which you may find interesting. You are welcome to attend.”</p><p></p><p>The Angels are taken to a couple of large, sparsely furnished rooms on another level. After resting for a while, they leave and wander for a little while, studying the place and its inhabitants, who consist mainly of orcs, but also have a significant number of humans and half-orcs, as well as a few members of other races. </p><p></p><p>The most noticeable thing about the Ghaash’kala is their martial nature. The majority of the people the Angels see wear armor, usually either leather or hide of some kind, with the rare metal version. Weapons are even more ubiquitous, with the only unarmed people they see being a few toddlers who are too young to walk. Even the very old, of which they see almost no examples, have a weapon belted on. Small children wear at least a knife, and those beyond the age of ten or so all carry larger weapons.</p><p></p><p>Six looks away from an armored woman, who is carrying a large earthen jar on one hip and wearing a hooked axe on the other, while holding the hand of a small boy of about eight, who is walking and spinning a spear with surprising skill. “These people are really ready to fight! I’ve never seen so many weapons in one place. Even the military never used to wear weapons all the time.”</p><p></p><p>Luna, now back in her normal form, says meditatively, “I just noticed something else. They never laugh. At least the adults don’t.”</p><p></p><p>Now that she mentions it, the others realize that they have not heard a single laugh since arriving here, except from one or two of the very small children while playing. There is a grimness to the Ghaash’kala, as well as a sense of focused purpose, which manifests in whatever they do. Whether weaving a blanket, or sparring with each other, or sharpening a weapon, or doing anything else, the Ghaash’kala seem to do so with a singularity of purpose that is almost frightening.</p><p></p><p>“Yes,” says Gareth, looking around. “It’s a little depressing. Like they all think they’re going to die.”</p><p></p><p>“No,” says Korm, whose own berserker soul finds an unexpected kinship to these people. “They <em>know</em> they’re going to die. It’s just not important to them. They’re just focused on their work.”</p><p></p><p>“Sounds like you like them,” says Nameless.</p><p></p><p>“I do. I understand them.”</p><p></p><p>Shortly afterwards, the group joins Torgaan, Lharc, Morran and a couple hundred of their clan members in a large, partly open air chamber for the ceremony they were told of. It is a short affair, beginning with Lharc saying a prayer and pronouncing the blessing of Kalok Shash on those gathered. Then a dozen dancers, wearing stylized but simple masks, enact the history of the Ghaash’kala. It begins with the battles at the end of the Age of Demons, at the end of which the dragons bound the leaders of the fiends through the power of Kalok Shash, which was created through the sacrifice of the couatls. The primary land of the demons was destroyed and transformed into the Demon Wastes. Millennia later, orcish tribes were drawn by the call of Kalok Shash to the Labyrinth, where they accepted the grim task of guarding the rest of Khorvaire from the slowly growing taint of the Demon Wastes. They became the Ghaash’kala and divided into four, the Jaasakah (“Deadly”), Kastar (“Swift”), Maruk (“Mighty”) and Vanka (“Final”) clans. And there they have remained ever since, fighting and dying in an endless guardianship, so that the rest of the world does not have to. </p><p></p><p>Once the ceremony is over, Lharc asks the Angels to join her and Torgaan. Once they are in a private chamber, she says, “We have considered your situation and we will help you as we can. We will let you pass and get the other clans to do so too. We will also give you what information we can. However….” She stops and turns to Torgaan.</p><p></p><p>The kizshmit says, “As Lharc was saying, however, we cannot let you leave the Wastes and carry its taint into the world. That is a part of our duty that we must fulfill. I tell you this in full honesty, so that you may be prepared. If you succeed in your quest, and I hope you do, and then try to leave, we will stop you.” The tone is not threatening or regretful, but simply sincere.</p><p></p><p>“What is this Taint?” asks Six. “Is it so bad that you would stop us even though we are all fighting the same enemy?”</p><p></p><p>“Yes, it is,” says Lharc, “And I cannot describe it in any clear way, since it changes for different people. The Wastes taint whatever enters, but does so in varying ways. We cannot risk letting that leave.”</p><p></p><p>“So let me get this right,” says Gareth, with a frown. “You would stop me, a paladin of the Silver Flame?”</p><p></p><p>Torgaan smiles slightly at the pride in Gareth’s voice. “And I am a paladin of Kalok Shash. Kalok Shash <em>is</em> the Silver Flame, though you may call it by another name. There are more of what you call paladins here than even the place you call…,” he looks at Lharc, “…what is it?”</p><p></p><p>“Flamekeep,” she completes.</p><p></p><p>“Flamekeep. And yes, I would stop you.”</p><p></p><p>Lharc adds, “We are being completely honest about this, since we hope you understand. But, whether you do or not, this is how it must be.”</p><p></p><p>“Yes,” says Korm quickly, and with respect. “We understand. If that is how it must be, so be it. I respect your honesty – and your cause.”</p><p></p><p>“Thank you,” says Lharc. “Now that is covered, let us tell you what we know. Though few of our people go into the Wastes, some do, and we sometimes even have members of the Carrion Tribes respond to the call of Kalok Shash. So we have some knowledge of the area. Of the three places you mentioned, the Lake of Fire is one of the largest volcanoes, of which there are many, in the Wastes. There are many rumors about it. Some say that a great magical trove of weapons is hidden beneath its lava, that it is where one of the greatest of the rajahs was bound at the end of the Age of Demons, and that fiends arise regularly from its flames. Whether they are true or not, it is supposed to attract fiendish creatures.”</p><p></p><p>“Burning Keep is the remains of a small fort, built on the almost nonexistent remnants of a rakshasa ruin from the Age of Demons. The fort was built by the Enshrouded, one of the Carrion Tribes that worship a fiend of darkness, when they were rising in power, but soon destroyed by other nearby tribes. And Rotting Blade is a small settlement, which contains humans and orcs, as well as (we think) a nearby kobold tribe. We also believe it is ruled by a night hag. I hope that helps.” </p><p></p><p>“I’m sure it will,” says Six. “What are these Carrion Tribes?”</p><p></p><p>“Tribes of savages,” says Torgaan, before smiling thinly and adding, “Even more savage than us. Some worship the bound rajahs, some the Lords of Dust, and some even the night hags of the Waste. They are deadly, and will likely try to kill you on sight.”</p><p></p><p>“Yes,” says Lharc. “To reach the area you are going to, you may pass through lands inhabited by the Moon Reavers, who worship a night hag, and the Plaguebearers, which worship a fiend of corruption, and like to coat their weapons with disease-causing dung. It is difficult to be sure, since they are mostly nomadic, and fight among themselves constantly.” </p><p></p><p>“Every little bit of information helps,” says Nameless. “Could you help us in any way against the rakshasas? They are difficult to damage with the weapons we have.”</p><p></p><p>“Yes,” says Lharc. “We have considered this too, and will give you one of our finest weapons. It is a spear, especially blessed by a past sar’malaan to overcome their resistances. You will receive it before you leave. Is there anything else that we can do?”</p><p></p><p>After they discuss a few more things, Torgaan and Lharc ask the Angels to go and rest. They can leave early in the morning, with escorts to lead them to the Vanka clan, which guards the area of the Labyrinth they will pass immediately before reaching the Wastes.</p><p></p><p>*****</p><p>As planned, the Angels leave Maruk Dar very early in the morning. Morran, who seems to be very interested in their situation, leads the escort. While they travel, he talks to them about the lands they come from, all of which he has only heard of, and tells them of the life of the Ghaash’kala.</p><p></p><p>Eventually, near noon, they are stopped by a squad of Ghaash’kala who rise from the rocks ahead of them. The Vanka warriors are similar in garb and gear to the Maruk, differing only in that they are almost exclusively orcish, and that they bear a wide variety of sigils and tribal markings, in contrast to the single type of sigil depicting Kalok Shash that the Maruk bear.</p><p></p><p>Morran quickly explains to the Vanka leader that the Maruk want these strangers to be allowed to pass through the Vanka’s territory. The Angels notice that, though he provides no details of why this should be so, the Vanka ask no questions. Their leader simply asks Morran, “Do they know that we will stop them if they attempt to leave?” When Morran replies in the affirmative, he nods and motions to the Angels to follow him.</p><p></p><p>As they are about to leave, Morran says, with just the slightest bit of wistfulness, “I wish you luck in the Wastes. If you do not return, may Kalok Shash grant you a good death.”</p><p></p><p>“Thank you,” says Korm. “You sound like you wish you could come with us.”</p><p></p><p>Morran smiles. “I do, a little. When one holds the passes against the darkness for so long, sometimes one wishes to carry the battle to them, instead. Still, we all do what we must.”</p><p></p><p>With that, Morran bids the Angels goodbye, him and the other Maruk turning away and jogging away quickly. Four of the Vanka lead the Angels away, while the others fade back into the rocks. After half an hour, they reach a small outpost, consisting off a rough building carved part of the way up the side of a canyon, where their Vanka guides stop them. After speaking to others in the outpost, they provide the group with six new guides and leave them. These six lead them quickly in the direction of the Wastes.</p><p></p><p>It is early evening when the Angels finally emerge from the Labyrinth. The canyons end suddenly, changing abruptly into the dark, rolling plains and rocky hills of the Demon Wastes. The Vanka stop here, saying that they will go no further, and head back into the Labyrinth.</p><p></p><p>“Should we stop here or continue?” asks Luna.</p><p></p><p>“There’ll be some light for a while,” Nameless says, “And we might as well get as much benefit from these mounts as possible.”</p><p></p><p>The Angels proceed quickly into the Wastes, the <em>phantom stag</em>s and <em>steed</em>s carrying them at a great pace, now that they can travel without having to make constant turns as they did thus far, despite the lack of any track or trail to follow.</p><p></p><p>As they travel, the Angels look around with interest at probably the most inhospitable area in Khorvaire short of the Mournland itself. Plains of blackened sand and reddish rock undulate around them, rising regularly into dark hills that sometimes rise to the level of mountains, their sharp ridges etched against the darkening sky. Many of them are actively volcanic, marked by plumes of ash or trickling ash, and the riders pass large areas of volcanic glass from earlier activity. As the evening deepens, pinpricks of light appear as far as they can see, indicating that the entire area is heavily volcanic. There are areas of the plain with glowing splits in the ground, not crevasses so much as large fire pits.</p><p></p><p>There are few signs of life, though there are birds high in the sky and the odd rodent, serpent or large insect moves hurriedly from the path of the riders, surprised by the near-silent movement of the magical mounts. The only vegetation seems to be short spiky bushes and shrubs, with large patches of some hardy lichen. </p><p></p><p>There is no evident sign of human – or other – habitation either, though, as the evening deepens, the Angels glimpse collections of lights miles away that might be the windows of a small village or a collection of campfires. Luckily, none of them are in the immediate vicinity, though the existence of the hills in the area makes it quite possible that they are simply missing some.</p><p></p><p>Eventually, after nearly three hours of riding, when they are fifty or so miles into the Wastes, the Angels decide to call a halt, a combination of tiredness and darkness making it difficult to continue. The mounts are also due to fade away soon, and Nameless, Korm and Luna dismiss them.</p><p></p><p>Having done so, Luna looks around at the forbidding landscape, now lit only by the lights of the many volcanoes. “Camping in the Demon Wastes. Anybody want to bet that I get to <em>flame strike</em> something tonight?”</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="shilsen, post: 3144905, member: 198"] If by "obvious" you mean [i]Lord of the Rings[/i], where Frodo and Sam are being followed by Gollum shortly before they first mee thim, then no. That was a damn good one. I've encountered some nice smack-talking from PCs and done some myself, and you guys did some of the best I've heard. That's one thing this group is really good at - confusing powerful NPCs with your smack talking. And now, on to the next instalment: ********************************************************************* “Ghaash’kala?” asks Korm, working out the rough translation in his mind. [i]Ghost guardians?[/i] “They live in the Labyrinth, I believe,” says Nameless, “Fighting the creatures of the Wastes.” “You are well informed,” says the Ghaash’kala leader. “I am Morran Shashaarat. We are of the Maruk Ghaash’kala. We dwell here, facing the darkness, ensuring that the taint of the Wastes may not spread to the rest of Khorvaire. Nothing may leave the Wastes without facing us.” The tone is matter of fact, but there is the tiniest hint of pride. He pauses, looking over the Angels. “Or enter.” [i]Maruk[/i], thinks Korm. [i]The Mighty[/i]. “Interesting.” He notes that four of the Ghaash’kala, after ensuring that the dragons are dead, are moving to either end of the canyon and looking around the area. The others stand in a loose semi-circle around their leader and the Angels, and while none look threatening, each holds a drawn weapon. Korm points to the corpses. “You said you were hunting these?” “Yes. They have killed my people before and we have wanted to kill them for long. We almost captured them, but they escaped. They are sly and tricky creatures. They can mimic any sound they have heard.” The Angels exchange glances, realizing that must have been the source of the cries for help they had heard earlier, as Morran continues, “And they are powerful fighters. You must be skilled to have hurt them so badly.” “Not too bad on your side either,” says Nameless. “Those spells were quite handy.” “Kalok Shash gives us its blessing.” “Kalok Shash?” “The Binding Flame.” Morran taps the sigil on his armor for emphasis. “Kalok Shash is what we are sworn to. It gives us the power to hold these lands. We live for the Flame. We die for the Flame.” There is something about Morran’s matter of fact demeanor that makes the comments seem grim, where they might have otherwise seemed overly flamboyant. “Flame?” asks Gareth. Morran looks at the markings on the paladin’s armor and says, “You worship the Silver Flame, then? We have seen some of your people in the past. I do not know much about it, but the sar’malaan has said that what you call the Silver Flame is Kalok Shash to us.” “Really?” says Six, intrigued. “Shouldn’t you know that, Gareth?” “Never heard of it before, or of Kalok Shash,” says Gareth with a shrug. “And here I thought they made you actually read books at the seminary,” smirks Nameless. “Maybe,” grins Gareth, “But I was home schooled.” Morran interrupts. “Tell me – what are you doing here? Are you here to answer the call of Kalok Shash?” “Not that I know of,” says Nameless. “We are pursuing two rakshasas, who stole something of ours.” “Into the Wastes?” “Yes.” “You are chasing rakshasas into the Wastes,” repeats Morran, sounding curious, rather than surprised. “The Ghaash’kala fight them more often than any people in this world. You are very brave or very foolish.” “Yes,” grins Korm. “What did they steal? It must be very valuable.” Nameless hesitates, and then says, “Yes. It is something powerful and important to us.” Six says, “Wait a minute. Why don’t we tell them everything? All the people who shouldn’t know about it already do. We might as well start talking to people who can help. And anyone who lives here and fights rakshasas is someone who might be able to help us.” Nameless considers for a moment, and then says, “You know what – you’re right. Morran, do you have any leaders we can speak to?” “Yes,” says Morran. “As I said, we do not look kindly on anything entering the Wastes, since, when it tries to leave, it brings the taint with it. But, in view of your help with the dragons, I wish you to come with me. I cannot make a decision, but my brother, Torgaan can. He is our kizshmit, the war leader. And Lharc Shushaa, our sar’malaan, she who speaks to Kalok Shash, should hear you too.” “Excellent. Then let’s go.” “Hold on,” says Korm. “Not before I get some dragon steak.” The eagle Luna, perched on his shoulder through the conversation, screeches her agreement. Morran smiles for the first time. “I would have said that if you had not. Such large meals are not to be wasted.” As he signals, a number of the Ghaash’kala head for the dragon corpses, reaching into bags and sheathes to remove large chopping blades. “Once this is done, I shall take you to…” ***** “…Maruk Dar,” says Morran, pointing upwards. “This is our home and main fortress, though we have many smaller outposts scattered around the Wastes.” The Angels look up in the light of early evening, which is descending quicker than normal and casting long shadows within the deep gorges of the Labyrinth, at the home of the Maruk Ghaash’kala. Maruk Dar consists of a series of vertical levels carved out of the canyon wall, beginning fifty feet above them and rising in ascending steps until the highest one meets the cliff top two hundred feet above. The levels take advantage of the already sloping cliff, so that each one juts out about ten to twenty feet from the one above. On each level, there are numerous doorways and tunnel openings that lead into the rock face, and scores of the Ghaash’kala move in and out of them. Ropes hang down from each level to the next, apparently serving as the primary means of ascent and descent, though the odd ladder also provides an option for the less dexterous. Dozens of armed warriors now stand looking down at the Angels, but having seen and been hailed by their escort, they now throw down rope ladders, allowing the Angels to half-climb and be half-pulled up to the lowest level, while their guides quickly shimmy up ropes beside them. As soon as they are on solid ground, Morran checks where the kizshmit and sar’malaan are, and, having been told they are on the third level, again leads the Angels upwards. While one member of their escort goes ahead to inform the kizshmit of the newcomers, the rest of their escort, most of them laden with fang dragon meat, skin and bone, quickly leaves them. Other Ghaash’kala quickly fall in behind them. As they proceed, Gareth says quietly to Korm, “For a ‘fortress’, I don’t see much in the way of fortifications.” Overhearing the quiet comment, Marron says, “Fortifications would be difficult to build here. And they are not needed. We are the Ghash’kaala.” Again, though the statement is matter of fact, there is the slightest tinge of pride. “Even the Lords of Dust do not easily attack us here.” “A place where rakshasas prefer not to attack?” says Six appreciatively, “I knew we should tell these guys everything!” As they travel through the chambers and tunnels that lie hidden within Maruk Dar, the Angels notice the almost complete lack of internal decoration. Literally everything they see is utterly functional. The only decoration is the stylized sigil of Kalok Shash that appears on some of the walls, on many Ghash’kaala weapons and armor, and on each of the inhabitants. Eventually, they reach a chamber, different from the others in that it actually has a simple wooden door, unlike the simple curtains that are the only concession to privacy that the Ghaash’kala seem to have. Inside, sitting cross-legged on a pair of woven mats and talking, are a middle-aged woman, who wears a fist-size symbol of Kalok Shash around her neck, and a tall, scarred warrior, who bears a strong resemblance to Morran. Morran, who leads them into the room, introduces the pair as Torgaan Shashaarat, the kizshmit, and Lharc Shushaa, the sar’malaan. Torgaan nods gravely and motions them to seats. “We have already been told of your coming. And you wish to speak to us?” “Yes,” says Nameless, after the group is seated. “We are on a mission that I believe the Ghaash’kala might be interested in.” He proceeds, with the help of the others, to outline everything that has happened regarding the Key, from its discovery to the current moment. Torgaan, Lharc and Morran are quickly hanging on every word. Finally, Nameless finishes, and asks, “Do you know of either Zathara or Nethatar?” “No,” says Lharc, who has asked most of the questions, “But the names of our enemies are not something we usually learn. Your tale is very interesting. I have not heard of such a situation before, though we do sometimes meet people entering the Wastes. As Morran will have told you, we do not support such attempts. But yours is a strange matter. Torgaan and I need to speak of it before we make a decision. Either way, you should stay here tonight.” “Thank you,” says Nameless, and the others do so as well. As they are about to leave, Lharc adds, “We will be having a short ceremony today, which you may find interesting. You are welcome to attend.” The Angels are taken to a couple of large, sparsely furnished rooms on another level. After resting for a while, they leave and wander for a little while, studying the place and its inhabitants, who consist mainly of orcs, but also have a significant number of humans and half-orcs, as well as a few members of other races. The most noticeable thing about the Ghaash’kala is their martial nature. The majority of the people the Angels see wear armor, usually either leather or hide of some kind, with the rare metal version. Weapons are even more ubiquitous, with the only unarmed people they see being a few toddlers who are too young to walk. Even the very old, of which they see almost no examples, have a weapon belted on. Small children wear at least a knife, and those beyond the age of ten or so all carry larger weapons. Six looks away from an armored woman, who is carrying a large earthen jar on one hip and wearing a hooked axe on the other, while holding the hand of a small boy of about eight, who is walking and spinning a spear with surprising skill. “These people are really ready to fight! I’ve never seen so many weapons in one place. Even the military never used to wear weapons all the time.” Luna, now back in her normal form, says meditatively, “I just noticed something else. They never laugh. At least the adults don’t.” Now that she mentions it, the others realize that they have not heard a single laugh since arriving here, except from one or two of the very small children while playing. There is a grimness to the Ghaash’kala, as well as a sense of focused purpose, which manifests in whatever they do. Whether weaving a blanket, or sparring with each other, or sharpening a weapon, or doing anything else, the Ghaash’kala seem to do so with a singularity of purpose that is almost frightening. “Yes,” says Gareth, looking around. “It’s a little depressing. Like they all think they’re going to die.” “No,” says Korm, whose own berserker soul finds an unexpected kinship to these people. “They [i]know[/i] they’re going to die. It’s just not important to them. They’re just focused on their work.” “Sounds like you like them,” says Nameless. “I do. I understand them.” Shortly afterwards, the group joins Torgaan, Lharc, Morran and a couple hundred of their clan members in a large, partly open air chamber for the ceremony they were told of. It is a short affair, beginning with Lharc saying a prayer and pronouncing the blessing of Kalok Shash on those gathered. Then a dozen dancers, wearing stylized but simple masks, enact the history of the Ghaash’kala. It begins with the battles at the end of the Age of Demons, at the end of which the dragons bound the leaders of the fiends through the power of Kalok Shash, which was created through the sacrifice of the couatls. The primary land of the demons was destroyed and transformed into the Demon Wastes. Millennia later, orcish tribes were drawn by the call of Kalok Shash to the Labyrinth, where they accepted the grim task of guarding the rest of Khorvaire from the slowly growing taint of the Demon Wastes. They became the Ghaash’kala and divided into four, the Jaasakah (“Deadly”), Kastar (“Swift”), Maruk (“Mighty”) and Vanka (“Final”) clans. And there they have remained ever since, fighting and dying in an endless guardianship, so that the rest of the world does not have to. Once the ceremony is over, Lharc asks the Angels to join her and Torgaan. Once they are in a private chamber, she says, “We have considered your situation and we will help you as we can. We will let you pass and get the other clans to do so too. We will also give you what information we can. However….” She stops and turns to Torgaan. The kizshmit says, “As Lharc was saying, however, we cannot let you leave the Wastes and carry its taint into the world. That is a part of our duty that we must fulfill. I tell you this in full honesty, so that you may be prepared. If you succeed in your quest, and I hope you do, and then try to leave, we will stop you.” The tone is not threatening or regretful, but simply sincere. “What is this Taint?” asks Six. “Is it so bad that you would stop us even though we are all fighting the same enemy?” “Yes, it is,” says Lharc, “And I cannot describe it in any clear way, since it changes for different people. The Wastes taint whatever enters, but does so in varying ways. We cannot risk letting that leave.” “So let me get this right,” says Gareth, with a frown. “You would stop me, a paladin of the Silver Flame?” Torgaan smiles slightly at the pride in Gareth’s voice. “And I am a paladin of Kalok Shash. Kalok Shash [i]is[/i] the Silver Flame, though you may call it by another name. There are more of what you call paladins here than even the place you call…,” he looks at Lharc, “…what is it?” “Flamekeep,” she completes. “Flamekeep. And yes, I would stop you.” Lharc adds, “We are being completely honest about this, since we hope you understand. But, whether you do or not, this is how it must be.” “Yes,” says Korm quickly, and with respect. “We understand. If that is how it must be, so be it. I respect your honesty – and your cause.” “Thank you,” says Lharc. “Now that is covered, let us tell you what we know. Though few of our people go into the Wastes, some do, and we sometimes even have members of the Carrion Tribes respond to the call of Kalok Shash. So we have some knowledge of the area. Of the three places you mentioned, the Lake of Fire is one of the largest volcanoes, of which there are many, in the Wastes. There are many rumors about it. Some say that a great magical trove of weapons is hidden beneath its lava, that it is where one of the greatest of the rajahs was bound at the end of the Age of Demons, and that fiends arise regularly from its flames. Whether they are true or not, it is supposed to attract fiendish creatures.” “Burning Keep is the remains of a small fort, built on the almost nonexistent remnants of a rakshasa ruin from the Age of Demons. The fort was built by the Enshrouded, one of the Carrion Tribes that worship a fiend of darkness, when they were rising in power, but soon destroyed by other nearby tribes. And Rotting Blade is a small settlement, which contains humans and orcs, as well as (we think) a nearby kobold tribe. We also believe it is ruled by a night hag. I hope that helps.” “I’m sure it will,” says Six. “What are these Carrion Tribes?” “Tribes of savages,” says Torgaan, before smiling thinly and adding, “Even more savage than us. Some worship the bound rajahs, some the Lords of Dust, and some even the night hags of the Waste. They are deadly, and will likely try to kill you on sight.” “Yes,” says Lharc. “To reach the area you are going to, you may pass through lands inhabited by the Moon Reavers, who worship a night hag, and the Plaguebearers, which worship a fiend of corruption, and like to coat their weapons with disease-causing dung. It is difficult to be sure, since they are mostly nomadic, and fight among themselves constantly.” “Every little bit of information helps,” says Nameless. “Could you help us in any way against the rakshasas? They are difficult to damage with the weapons we have.” “Yes,” says Lharc. “We have considered this too, and will give you one of our finest weapons. It is a spear, especially blessed by a past sar’malaan to overcome their resistances. You will receive it before you leave. Is there anything else that we can do?” After they discuss a few more things, Torgaan and Lharc ask the Angels to go and rest. They can leave early in the morning, with escorts to lead them to the Vanka clan, which guards the area of the Labyrinth they will pass immediately before reaching the Wastes. ***** As planned, the Angels leave Maruk Dar very early in the morning. Morran, who seems to be very interested in their situation, leads the escort. While they travel, he talks to them about the lands they come from, all of which he has only heard of, and tells them of the life of the Ghaash’kala. Eventually, near noon, they are stopped by a squad of Ghaash’kala who rise from the rocks ahead of them. The Vanka warriors are similar in garb and gear to the Maruk, differing only in that they are almost exclusively orcish, and that they bear a wide variety of sigils and tribal markings, in contrast to the single type of sigil depicting Kalok Shash that the Maruk bear. Morran quickly explains to the Vanka leader that the Maruk want these strangers to be allowed to pass through the Vanka’s territory. The Angels notice that, though he provides no details of why this should be so, the Vanka ask no questions. Their leader simply asks Morran, “Do they know that we will stop them if they attempt to leave?” When Morran replies in the affirmative, he nods and motions to the Angels to follow him. As they are about to leave, Morran says, with just the slightest bit of wistfulness, “I wish you luck in the Wastes. If you do not return, may Kalok Shash grant you a good death.” “Thank you,” says Korm. “You sound like you wish you could come with us.” Morran smiles. “I do, a little. When one holds the passes against the darkness for so long, sometimes one wishes to carry the battle to them, instead. Still, we all do what we must.” With that, Morran bids the Angels goodbye, him and the other Maruk turning away and jogging away quickly. Four of the Vanka lead the Angels away, while the others fade back into the rocks. After half an hour, they reach a small outpost, consisting off a rough building carved part of the way up the side of a canyon, where their Vanka guides stop them. After speaking to others in the outpost, they provide the group with six new guides and leave them. These six lead them quickly in the direction of the Wastes. It is early evening when the Angels finally emerge from the Labyrinth. The canyons end suddenly, changing abruptly into the dark, rolling plains and rocky hills of the Demon Wastes. The Vanka stop here, saying that they will go no further, and head back into the Labyrinth. “Should we stop here or continue?” asks Luna. “There’ll be some light for a while,” Nameless says, “And we might as well get as much benefit from these mounts as possible.” The Angels proceed quickly into the Wastes, the [i]phantom stag[/i]s and [i]steed[/i]s carrying them at a great pace, now that they can travel without having to make constant turns as they did thus far, despite the lack of any track or trail to follow. As they travel, the Angels look around with interest at probably the most inhospitable area in Khorvaire short of the Mournland itself. Plains of blackened sand and reddish rock undulate around them, rising regularly into dark hills that sometimes rise to the level of mountains, their sharp ridges etched against the darkening sky. Many of them are actively volcanic, marked by plumes of ash or trickling ash, and the riders pass large areas of volcanic glass from earlier activity. As the evening deepens, pinpricks of light appear as far as they can see, indicating that the entire area is heavily volcanic. There are areas of the plain with glowing splits in the ground, not crevasses so much as large fire pits. There are few signs of life, though there are birds high in the sky and the odd rodent, serpent or large insect moves hurriedly from the path of the riders, surprised by the near-silent movement of the magical mounts. The only vegetation seems to be short spiky bushes and shrubs, with large patches of some hardy lichen. There is no evident sign of human – or other – habitation either, though, as the evening deepens, the Angels glimpse collections of lights miles away that might be the windows of a small village or a collection of campfires. Luckily, none of them are in the immediate vicinity, though the existence of the hills in the area makes it quite possible that they are simply missing some. Eventually, after nearly three hours of riding, when they are fifty or so miles into the Wastes, the Angels decide to call a halt, a combination of tiredness and darkness making it difficult to continue. The mounts are also due to fade away soon, and Nameless, Korm and Luna dismiss them. Having done so, Luna looks around at the forbidding landscape, now lit only by the lights of the many volcanoes. “Camping in the Demon Wastes. Anybody want to bet that I get to [i]flame strike[/i] something tonight?” [/QUOTE]
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Shilsen's Eberron SH (Finished - The Last Word : 9/20/15)
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