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Sic Pixie's Carrion Crown Adventure Path
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<blockquote data-quote="Sic_Pixie" data-source="post: 5951114" data-attributes="member: 52403"><p><strong>Pringle the return .. apparently you just can't stop once you pop ...</strong></p><p></p><p>Kat is left outside looking after the horses (she has nothing better to do apparently) as they all head inside. They all get the pleasant ring as they enter apart from Nashkar who looks about in wonderment as the temple comes alive with holy men and women come running. They enquire as to what they can do to help and they are answered by a gruff Grembor demanding they raise his friend Pringle from the dead. With apologetic smiles they say that they do not have the power here to return people from the grave and that they would have to go to the temple of Pharasma to request this. They give Grembor direction who turns around and heads straight back out into the rain to find this place and get his friend returned back to life.</p><p></p><p>The rest of the party (Sayuri, Zordlan and Nashkar all relax in the comfort of the temple each standing by the fire drying off their rain sodden and mud caked cloaks while chatting to the assembled clergy. They find out that something terrible has been happening in the city and several buildings have collapsed in the past few days. There has been a request for stout adventurers put out but as yet no-one has come forward in response to this. They each look at each other probably wondering why trouble always seems to follow them around and what would happen if they decided not to help out everyone who asks for it.</p><p></p><p>Meanwhile as they are standing in the dry temple being served good wine and food Grembor is making his way to the Ossuary which is hard to miss. Approaching the doors he finds them closed but sounds of a ceremony going on inside. Taking Pringles body from the litter he makes his way up the stairs and opens the door with his dirty boot allowing the wind to whip around the room sending the candles dancing. Noticing the on-going ceremony he finds somewhere to sit while propping Pringle up beside him and waits. Several minutes pass and finally an priest notices him and walks over to enquire at to his purpose here today.</p><p></p><p>Grembor advises that his friend is dead and he would like the clergy to do something about it. They offer to bury Pringle for an agreeable sum; they also can provide some mourners for a very reasonable price; some of them he is assured will cry and wail in a very convincing manner. Shaking his head he states that no he would like his friend brought back to life as his feet have a long pathway yet to walk upon in this life. The priest with an Ahhh of understanding enquires politely as to the gentleman’s monetary situation as these things take an obscene amount of money.</p><p></p><p>Grembor drags a sack in from off his horse and tips out several magical breastplates, bastard swords and falchions picked up from the werewolves and the priests. The priest somewhat taken aback quickly brings along the temples quartermaster who swiftly goes through the items. Setting aside many of the items he states that they could try bringing him back for all the breastplates and weapons and that they could have a slot next Tuesday for the ritual to take place. Grembor growls deep in his throat that sooner would indeed be better then later and he suggests that they see if they have a slot open this afternoon. Looking to his face and back at the dwindling treasure pile, they appropriate a couple more items and then grin saying that an opening has only just become available if he would like to bring along his friend …</p><p></p><p>Bearing the body of Pringle back into a room dedicated to the returning of wandering souls they place Pringle upon a bier which is surrounded by a silvery complex symbol upon the floor; there are several tall black candles placed around the body and each is lit; they each emit a different coloured flame sending weird shadows dancing around the room. A large stone alter replete with a horned skull and even more candles entwined with dark roses and small white flowers holds an impressive looking book with dark black pages and silvery blue writing.</p><p></p><p>Entering the room is a young many; probably no older than seventeen who walks up to the alter and turns a few pages of the ominous looking tome. “What’s the deceased’s name” he enquires towards Grembor who responds with “Pringle.” Nodding he turns back to the tome and with a wand fashioned from a cats vertebrae he starts reading aloud in a dark tongue which makes the skin crawl upon Grembor’s spine as if the wand the young man was holding was being run down his own back.</p><p></p><p>Pringle is not happy; he spent many years ignoring the obvious truth of the gods existence and instead dedicated his life to the pursuit of arcane knowledge. He never had any time of gods and silly religions and now he thinks to himself this was perhaps a mistake. After following the nice gentleman in the dark cloak he found himself in a long line of people; he stood in this line for what seemed like an eternity but he was finally brought before a huge being which seemed to be mainly comprised of light and a stern demeanor. Even though he could not see its eyes he knew they it gazed upon him and that it saw everything about him he would like to keep hidden. With a soul shattering word he was dismissed and one of many flunkies grabbed his insubstantial arm and drew him away to join another line. This line looked to be very long but it moved relatively quickly; he soon found himself at the front where he was helped up some macabre scaffolding to a wall where he was grabbed by a strange looking mason and cemented into the wall with only his face and one hand left poking out. He could feel the cement writhing around him fashioned from the souls of those less fortunate than himself while the other stones around him shifted and moaned in fear. Each soul in the wall cried out making the infinite Wailing Wall resound along it’s entire length; a length that Pringle could now sense and the realization that each and every soul within this wall was like him; a non believer. Each of them could sense him and the wall was ever growing. The scaffold was now what seemed to be miles away as a steady stream of souls were absorbed into the Wailing Wall.</p><p></p><p>Eternity seems to have passed and the face could feel himself loosing that which was him into the wall; on the brink of giving up and being absorbed; becoming nothing but a speck in the wall; his face only a suggestion of a face when he heard a call; a name; a name which seemed to be somehow familiar. In the distance was a bright light; even though he had no real eyes to see it as they had closed and sealed an age ago he could feel its presence; the heat of it warmed his face and the sudden realization that this was his name. His name was Pringle. “Pringle” he would have screamed it if his mouth had not sealed itself shut in the centuries he has been here; he could feel himself being prized loose of the cement which had held him for so long. His mouth was given shape again and something grabbed him by his one available hand and pulls; pulls so very hard he could feel himself tearing apart as he is ripped from the wall; he screamed in pain; pain of release and realization. He can still feel parts of him still embedded in the wall of lost souls; the Wailing Wall; the wall of the unbelievers as he is cast out into a bright and burning light he feels himself being consumed. </p><p></p><p>He feels cold; but he feels which is something he could not have said until now; there is stone beneath him and that is also cold. There is an unbelievable pain in his chest and he realizes that it is his heart beating again for the first time in a long time forcing the sluggish blood there to turn back into a liquid from its semi solid state. His head pounds as the blood again starts to circulate in his system; his arms and legs scream in agony as pins and needles flare in the extremities as the blood finds it’s way there; his eyes flutter open lanced by the bright light while a moan of pain and fear escapes his lips.</p><p></p><p>A young face looms over him and dark eyes sparkle with power. “You were a difficult one to find Pringle. Next time I suggest you find a patron to look after you as calling your soul back from the wall is a difficult thing.” With that the disturbing smiling face disappears and it’s replaced by a different one but a more familiar one as Grembor helps him to his shaky feet.</p><p></p><p>With a hug they depart the Temple having given their thanks and return through the rain to the Temple of Desna where Pringle is greeted back by the whole party. He however still feels cold and he can feel a part of him still in the wall and he knows he will never again be the same as he was previous to dying. Should he die again where now would his soul go?</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Sic_Pixie, post: 5951114, member: 52403"] [b]Pringle the return .. apparently you just can't stop once you pop ...[/b] Kat is left outside looking after the horses (she has nothing better to do apparently) as they all head inside. They all get the pleasant ring as they enter apart from Nashkar who looks about in wonderment as the temple comes alive with holy men and women come running. They enquire as to what they can do to help and they are answered by a gruff Grembor demanding they raise his friend Pringle from the dead. With apologetic smiles they say that they do not have the power here to return people from the grave and that they would have to go to the temple of Pharasma to request this. They give Grembor direction who turns around and heads straight back out into the rain to find this place and get his friend returned back to life. The rest of the party (Sayuri, Zordlan and Nashkar all relax in the comfort of the temple each standing by the fire drying off their rain sodden and mud caked cloaks while chatting to the assembled clergy. They find out that something terrible has been happening in the city and several buildings have collapsed in the past few days. There has been a request for stout adventurers put out but as yet no-one has come forward in response to this. They each look at each other probably wondering why trouble always seems to follow them around and what would happen if they decided not to help out everyone who asks for it. Meanwhile as they are standing in the dry temple being served good wine and food Grembor is making his way to the Ossuary which is hard to miss. Approaching the doors he finds them closed but sounds of a ceremony going on inside. Taking Pringles body from the litter he makes his way up the stairs and opens the door with his dirty boot allowing the wind to whip around the room sending the candles dancing. Noticing the on-going ceremony he finds somewhere to sit while propping Pringle up beside him and waits. Several minutes pass and finally an priest notices him and walks over to enquire at to his purpose here today. Grembor advises that his friend is dead and he would like the clergy to do something about it. They offer to bury Pringle for an agreeable sum; they also can provide some mourners for a very reasonable price; some of them he is assured will cry and wail in a very convincing manner. Shaking his head he states that no he would like his friend brought back to life as his feet have a long pathway yet to walk upon in this life. The priest with an Ahhh of understanding enquires politely as to the gentleman’s monetary situation as these things take an obscene amount of money. Grembor drags a sack in from off his horse and tips out several magical breastplates, bastard swords and falchions picked up from the werewolves and the priests. The priest somewhat taken aback quickly brings along the temples quartermaster who swiftly goes through the items. Setting aside many of the items he states that they could try bringing him back for all the breastplates and weapons and that they could have a slot next Tuesday for the ritual to take place. Grembor growls deep in his throat that sooner would indeed be better then later and he suggests that they see if they have a slot open this afternoon. Looking to his face and back at the dwindling treasure pile, they appropriate a couple more items and then grin saying that an opening has only just become available if he would like to bring along his friend … Bearing the body of Pringle back into a room dedicated to the returning of wandering souls they place Pringle upon a bier which is surrounded by a silvery complex symbol upon the floor; there are several tall black candles placed around the body and each is lit; they each emit a different coloured flame sending weird shadows dancing around the room. A large stone alter replete with a horned skull and even more candles entwined with dark roses and small white flowers holds an impressive looking book with dark black pages and silvery blue writing. Entering the room is a young many; probably no older than seventeen who walks up to the alter and turns a few pages of the ominous looking tome. “What’s the deceased’s name” he enquires towards Grembor who responds with “Pringle.” Nodding he turns back to the tome and with a wand fashioned from a cats vertebrae he starts reading aloud in a dark tongue which makes the skin crawl upon Grembor’s spine as if the wand the young man was holding was being run down his own back. Pringle is not happy; he spent many years ignoring the obvious truth of the gods existence and instead dedicated his life to the pursuit of arcane knowledge. He never had any time of gods and silly religions and now he thinks to himself this was perhaps a mistake. After following the nice gentleman in the dark cloak he found himself in a long line of people; he stood in this line for what seemed like an eternity but he was finally brought before a huge being which seemed to be mainly comprised of light and a stern demeanor. Even though he could not see its eyes he knew they it gazed upon him and that it saw everything about him he would like to keep hidden. With a soul shattering word he was dismissed and one of many flunkies grabbed his insubstantial arm and drew him away to join another line. This line looked to be very long but it moved relatively quickly; he soon found himself at the front where he was helped up some macabre scaffolding to a wall where he was grabbed by a strange looking mason and cemented into the wall with only his face and one hand left poking out. He could feel the cement writhing around him fashioned from the souls of those less fortunate than himself while the other stones around him shifted and moaned in fear. Each soul in the wall cried out making the infinite Wailing Wall resound along it’s entire length; a length that Pringle could now sense and the realization that each and every soul within this wall was like him; a non believer. Each of them could sense him and the wall was ever growing. The scaffold was now what seemed to be miles away as a steady stream of souls were absorbed into the Wailing Wall. Eternity seems to have passed and the face could feel himself loosing that which was him into the wall; on the brink of giving up and being absorbed; becoming nothing but a speck in the wall; his face only a suggestion of a face when he heard a call; a name; a name which seemed to be somehow familiar. In the distance was a bright light; even though he had no real eyes to see it as they had closed and sealed an age ago he could feel its presence; the heat of it warmed his face and the sudden realization that this was his name. His name was Pringle. “Pringle” he would have screamed it if his mouth had not sealed itself shut in the centuries he has been here; he could feel himself being prized loose of the cement which had held him for so long. His mouth was given shape again and something grabbed him by his one available hand and pulls; pulls so very hard he could feel himself tearing apart as he is ripped from the wall; he screamed in pain; pain of release and realization. He can still feel parts of him still embedded in the wall of lost souls; the Wailing Wall; the wall of the unbelievers as he is cast out into a bright and burning light he feels himself being consumed. He feels cold; but he feels which is something he could not have said until now; there is stone beneath him and that is also cold. There is an unbelievable pain in his chest and he realizes that it is his heart beating again for the first time in a long time forcing the sluggish blood there to turn back into a liquid from its semi solid state. His head pounds as the blood again starts to circulate in his system; his arms and legs scream in agony as pins and needles flare in the extremities as the blood finds it’s way there; his eyes flutter open lanced by the bright light while a moan of pain and fear escapes his lips. A young face looms over him and dark eyes sparkle with power. “You were a difficult one to find Pringle. Next time I suggest you find a patron to look after you as calling your soul back from the wall is a difficult thing.” With that the disturbing smiling face disappears and it’s replaced by a different one but a more familiar one as Grembor helps him to his shaky feet. With a hug they depart the Temple having given their thanks and return through the rain to the Temple of Desna where Pringle is greeted back by the whole party. He however still feels cold and he can feel a part of him still in the wall and he knows he will never again be the same as he was previous to dying. Should he die again where now would his soul go? [/QUOTE]
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