Sniktch's Story Hour - City of the Spider Queen (Updated 04/25)
Dougal DeKree
First Post
page3?!?!?!
Now, is this on page three because Sniktch has left us or everyone forgot about this SH??? THAT would be a pity!
Still alive, Ratman?
Now, is this on page three because Sniktch has left us or everyone forgot about this SH??? THAT would be a pity!
Still alive, Ratman?
Sniktch
First Post
Many apologies to all, but Maldur hit the nail on the head. I'm currently doing my job and replacing a manager who's taken ill at work, and I'm just very very tired and fried. I promise to wrap up the story as soon as my brain cells start taking in oxygen again.
No one at work is telling me how long I've got to juggle the jobs of two people, so I have no idea when they're going to ease my suffering...
Stringbean, I know this comes very late, but your party stands a chance if they try to avoid fighting like mine did. My group's desire to hack & slay and search every nook & cranny cost them dearly, but at least they seem to have started to learn their lesson.
Donalbain, its quite likely your group will finish the adventure before mine. Sorry, I can't explain yet but all will be revealed soon.
And again, I'm very sorry to my readers for not keeping up with this. This SH will be completed eventually.
No one at work is telling me how long I've got to juggle the jobs of two people, so I have no idea when they're going to ease my suffering...
Stringbean, I know this comes very late, but your party stands a chance if they try to avoid fighting like mine did. My group's desire to hack & slay and search every nook & cranny cost them dearly, but at least they seem to have started to learn their lesson.
Donalbain, its quite likely your group will finish the adventure before mine. Sorry, I can't explain yet but all will be revealed soon.
And again, I'm very sorry to my readers for not keeping up with this.
This SH will be completed eventually.
Mathew_Freeman
First Post
Sniktch, we can wait, and wait patiently. It'll be worth it, I'm sure.
Son_of_Thunder
Explorer
Hey Sniktch
Sniktch,
Wassssup! Come on man! Update already.
Son of Thunder
Sniktch,
Wassssup! Come on man! Update already.
Son of Thunder
Sniktch
First Post
This has been far too long in the coming. To my readers, I apologize for the delay and point the finger of blame at a too busy job, too busy life, and a bad case of writer's block. The following text should not be considered an ending, although thus far it has been, but merely a hiatus while a DM and his players explore new settings and new lands. The dead do not sleep easily and may return again in the not too distant future...
*****
Welby makes some new friends, and the saddest day...
Far above and completely forgotten, a small figure struggled to sit up. Still extremely weak from the spider venom coursing through his veins, Welby vainly tried to gather his strength to follow his friends. So focused on his exertions, he failed to catch the warning from his shadow friend until a large shape loomed over him out of the darkness. A startled cry escaped his lips and the small warrior fell backwards, shaking hands trying to lift his blade…
“Do not fret, little one. You must be the companion, the one we were told about.”
A tall human with pale skin knelt next to him. The human wore voluminous dark robes, but Welby could see the symbol of Arawn dangling from about his neck. The man regarded him impassively and called softly into the darkness behind him.
“Raak! I have found the companion. Artimus Sendant must not be far.”
The sound of flapping, barely noticeable until now, grew louder and another stranger appeared. A five foot tall figure encased in a blackened suit of plate mail decorated with actual bones fastened to the steel in intricate patterns hovered nearby, supported by a ten foot span of demonic bat wings. A shield gripped in one of its hands bore a stylized symbol of Arawn and the patterns on the armor portrayed the glory of death. A boneguard of Arawn.
The figure held forth its other hand, revealing a delicate seeming glass globe filled with a briny yellowish liquid. A severed finger floated in the midst of the fluid, currently angled so that it pointed downward at nearly a ninety degree angle.
A deep raspy voice issued from the helm, “The oracle is in agreement. Our charge lies almost directly below.
“What ails the halfling?”
“S-s-spider,” stammered Welby, his mind racing.
The hand withdrew inside of the flyer’s cloak for a moment and re-emerged, the globe replaced by a glass phial. “Drink,” the voice commanded, “Assainir pour venin.”
The pale man took the philter and unstoppered it, raising it to the stricken halfling’s lips. Welby hesitated. “Drink, my friend, this will help. We are friends of Sendant; if we wished you ill it would be quite easy to kill you in this state. Now drink, and tell us what has happened here.”
Welby tilted his head back and let the thick liquid pour down his throat. As he swallowed he could feel renewed strength flowing through his limbs. After he finished the bottle while they waited for his strength to return fully, the barbarian began to speak…
*****
Below, Artimus Sendant urged Higreld to hurry.
“Come, we must locate the priestess’ lair and destroy her before she can reform! This battle has not ended yet.”
The Loathegrot stood before the dark elves’ scrying pool, tossing in odd spices and reagents. “Patience must have you, time takes this right to do,” he chided. “Ah, see? Look!”
The goblin pointed towards the murky waters of the pool. The companions gathered around and looked into its depths as the water cleared and a scene appeared. They saw a small room with a trapdoor in the floor, dominated by a large stone sarcophagus. Carved into its surface they recognized the likeness of Dorrina T’sarran. As they watched, thick stream of smoke began to billow from the trapdoor and flow into the coffin.
Higreld waved his hand over the pool and the surface became murky and dark once more. “See? Found her we have. Up we go.”
“Going up? Then I guess we go this way,” Gnish called their attention to a silky ladder running from the corner of the room up through a hole in the ceiling before beginning his ascent. One by one the companions followed him into a large forsaken room. Across the floor were strewn the rotting corpses of dark elves long dead, intermingled with debris from smashed statuary and shattered glass. Spider-like inscriptions running around the interior of the chamber were defaced with obscene drawings in blood. On the far end of the room a great black altar stood, partially crumbling.
Artemis looked around, his brow furrowed. “I’m not sure this is the correct path. This looks like the old temple of Lolth, hardly the place I’d expect to find a vampiric priestess of Kiaransalee making her home. And I sense that this place is not completely deserted, especially – no! Zooky, stay away from the altar!”
Artemis’ warning came too late. As the svirfneblin strayed near the altar, a misty shape coalesced above it, taking the form of a ghastly and spectral drow priestess, the pain of death still etched across her face. The companions raised their weapons and prepared for another struggle, but the spirit merely smiled at them. And opened her mouth. And screamed.
One by one, the party succumbed to the banshee’s wail and dropped lifeless to the floor. In the ringing silence that followed, Gnish looked over at the still bleeding Bruskin and discovered that they were the only two still on their feet.
Not quite… not the only two…
Another shape materialized the air above Artemis. Grinning and brandishing his rapier, the Mask sighed, “Free at last, free… Let us begin again.” Turning to the fey’ri, the ghostly assassin chuckled. “So, are you victim number one, or victim number two?”
Bruskin and Gnish turned and raced for the exit. Bruskin flew down as Gnish slid down the ladder to the room below, then they ran for their lives…
Into the teeth of the remaining drow.
*****
Far above, on the ledge overlooking the great chasm and the city of Szith Morcane, three travelers prepared to descend the web. Welby stood between the pale man, a monk of Arawn named Lassivarius, and the Boneguard Raak, wondering for the countless time exactly what he was doing down here.
The boneguard considered the glass sphere again and a low moan escaped his lips. As Welby watched, the suspended finger suddenly lost its bearing and slowly floated toa level position. Then the glass burst and fluid and finger and glass showered the stone floor.
“Lassivarius, we are too late, we are undone! Sendant is dead. Sendant is dead…” His voice trailed off into the surrounding darkness, and soon there was only the raging of the underground river, far below.
*****
Welby makes some new friends, and the saddest day...
Far above and completely forgotten, a small figure struggled to sit up. Still extremely weak from the spider venom coursing through his veins, Welby vainly tried to gather his strength to follow his friends. So focused on his exertions, he failed to catch the warning from his shadow friend until a large shape loomed over him out of the darkness. A startled cry escaped his lips and the small warrior fell backwards, shaking hands trying to lift his blade…
“Do not fret, little one. You must be the companion, the one we were told about.”
A tall human with pale skin knelt next to him. The human wore voluminous dark robes, but Welby could see the symbol of Arawn dangling from about his neck. The man regarded him impassively and called softly into the darkness behind him.
“Raak! I have found the companion. Artimus Sendant must not be far.”
The sound of flapping, barely noticeable until now, grew louder and another stranger appeared. A five foot tall figure encased in a blackened suit of plate mail decorated with actual bones fastened to the steel in intricate patterns hovered nearby, supported by a ten foot span of demonic bat wings. A shield gripped in one of its hands bore a stylized symbol of Arawn and the patterns on the armor portrayed the glory of death. A boneguard of Arawn.
The figure held forth its other hand, revealing a delicate seeming glass globe filled with a briny yellowish liquid. A severed finger floated in the midst of the fluid, currently angled so that it pointed downward at nearly a ninety degree angle.
A deep raspy voice issued from the helm, “The oracle is in agreement. Our charge lies almost directly below.
“What ails the halfling?”
“S-s-spider,” stammered Welby, his mind racing.
The hand withdrew inside of the flyer’s cloak for a moment and re-emerged, the globe replaced by a glass phial. “Drink,” the voice commanded, “Assainir pour venin.”
The pale man took the philter and unstoppered it, raising it to the stricken halfling’s lips. Welby hesitated. “Drink, my friend, this will help. We are friends of Sendant; if we wished you ill it would be quite easy to kill you in this state. Now drink, and tell us what has happened here.”
Welby tilted his head back and let the thick liquid pour down his throat. As he swallowed he could feel renewed strength flowing through his limbs. After he finished the bottle while they waited for his strength to return fully, the barbarian began to speak…
*****
Below, Artimus Sendant urged Higreld to hurry.
“Come, we must locate the priestess’ lair and destroy her before she can reform! This battle has not ended yet.”
The Loathegrot stood before the dark elves’ scrying pool, tossing in odd spices and reagents. “Patience must have you, time takes this right to do,” he chided. “Ah, see? Look!”
The goblin pointed towards the murky waters of the pool. The companions gathered around and looked into its depths as the water cleared and a scene appeared. They saw a small room with a trapdoor in the floor, dominated by a large stone sarcophagus. Carved into its surface they recognized the likeness of Dorrina T’sarran. As they watched, thick stream of smoke began to billow from the trapdoor and flow into the coffin.
Higreld waved his hand over the pool and the surface became murky and dark once more. “See? Found her we have. Up we go.”
“Going up? Then I guess we go this way,” Gnish called their attention to a silky ladder running from the corner of the room up through a hole in the ceiling before beginning his ascent. One by one the companions followed him into a large forsaken room. Across the floor were strewn the rotting corpses of dark elves long dead, intermingled with debris from smashed statuary and shattered glass. Spider-like inscriptions running around the interior of the chamber were defaced with obscene drawings in blood. On the far end of the room a great black altar stood, partially crumbling.
Artemis looked around, his brow furrowed. “I’m not sure this is the correct path. This looks like the old temple of Lolth, hardly the place I’d expect to find a vampiric priestess of Kiaransalee making her home. And I sense that this place is not completely deserted, especially – no! Zooky, stay away from the altar!”
Artemis’ warning came too late. As the svirfneblin strayed near the altar, a misty shape coalesced above it, taking the form of a ghastly and spectral drow priestess, the pain of death still etched across her face. The companions raised their weapons and prepared for another struggle, but the spirit merely smiled at them. And opened her mouth. And screamed.
One by one, the party succumbed to the banshee’s wail and dropped lifeless to the floor. In the ringing silence that followed, Gnish looked over at the still bleeding Bruskin and discovered that they were the only two still on their feet.
Not quite… not the only two…
Another shape materialized the air above Artemis. Grinning and brandishing his rapier, the Mask sighed, “Free at last, free… Let us begin again.” Turning to the fey’ri, the ghostly assassin chuckled. “So, are you victim number one, or victim number two?”
Bruskin and Gnish turned and raced for the exit. Bruskin flew down as Gnish slid down the ladder to the room below, then they ran for their lives…
Into the teeth of the remaining drow.
*****
Far above, on the ledge overlooking the great chasm and the city of Szith Morcane, three travelers prepared to descend the web. Welby stood between the pale man, a monk of Arawn named Lassivarius, and the Boneguard Raak, wondering for the countless time exactly what he was doing down here.
The boneguard considered the glass sphere again and a low moan escaped his lips. As Welby watched, the suspended finger suddenly lost its bearing and slowly floated toa level position. Then the glass burst and fluid and finger and glass showered the stone floor.
“Lassivarius, we are too late, we are undone! Sendant is dead. Sendant is dead…” His voice trailed off into the surrounding darkness, and soon there was only the raging of the underground river, far below.
