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Sniktch's Story Hour - City of the Spider Queen (Updated 04/25)
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<blockquote data-quote="Sniktch" data-source="post: 400826" data-attributes="member: 7704"><p><strong>The adventure begins....</strong></p><p></p><p>Welby rose early the next morning, as he always did. He turned to find the wraith-like creature that had become his closest companion hovering near, awaiting his bidding. He preferred the shadow’s company, as he guessed he always had. It was simple, guileless, and he could communicate with it without speaking. He silently directed it to find something for breakfast. “Just not chicken,” he thought, “Never chicken.” He shuddered just a little. Chicken had been his favorite food, and his friends had chastised him many times for raiding farmers’ hencoops. It was just since they had fought that thing the others called a cockatrice, he had no stomach for it anymore.</p><p></p><p>The shadow soon returned and told him that some goats had been left out to pasture overnight. Welby grunted and stepped over to the window, pulling it open and preparing to slip over the side, when he remembered. They were going on a bigger hunt today, they were hunting the black elves! He would wake the others before he ate. They would want to get an early start.</p><p>____________________________________________________</p><p></p><p>No dream, no thought penetrated the thick fog of Grick’s mind. He floated in complete oblivion, unaware of anything that should pass in the world around him. Then the numbing shock and sudden pain as the blow hit him.</p><p></p><p>“Aaaaargh!” He roared and tried to leap to his feet, but got tangled in the soggy sheet and went tumbling to the floor, dripping water.</p><p></p><p>“I’m truly sorry Grick, but the others are waiting. Everything is packed. They are anxious to start this journey. And to be honest with you, so am I.” Quinn’s voice piercing the painful fog. “Besides, you can go back to sleep on the cart.”</p><p></p><p>“Everything is packed?” he rasped, hating the dry croak of his voice. “They packed the whiskey?”</p><p></p><p>“Of course, Grick,” she sighed, and he heard her footsteps recede as she walked away.</p><p></p><p>___________________________________________________</p><p></p><p>Malobar was secretly pleased. He had grown worried about his choice, watching the adventurers drink late into each night and rise late in the day, except for the wizard. And the wizard! His cart was full of horrors - the scuttling detached human hand constantly busy with some task or another, the chattering, grinning skull, and the things that stared back at him from those sealed jars! No wonder the dwarf found him distasteful, though Jack was no fairer to the elf’s eyes.</p><p></p><p>However, this morning some of his fears were laid to rest. He found them busy when he arose from reverie and ventured downstairs, loading the last couple of crates onto the covered wagon. Even the half-orc was present, though bleary eyed and clumsy. Perhaps this trip would not be a complete disaster.</p><p></p><p>___________________________________________________</p><p></p><p>The companions followed an old cart track running through the farmlands and surrounding wilds for about ten miles before reaching the Broken Hills. As twilight settled over them, Dalomar guided them to a worn shepherd path that wound through the hills. They passed several farmsteads as the darkness deepened, but the houses were burnt and empty, a silent testimony to the savagery of the drow. Finally they reached their destination.</p><p></p><p>The trail rose toward an ancient graveyard overgrown with weeds and fallen to rubble. The path ran between two well-built stone mausoleums that has weathered the ages and led at last to a niche carved into the hillside. Just within, the stone doors of the crypt stood closed within a masonry alcove.</p><p></p><p>Welby reined in the horses and lept off the seat of the wagon. He gestured at the two buildings, and the doors beyond, and turned back to face the others.</p><p></p><p>“Yes, Welby, I believe we should check the buildings first. Best to make sure they are empty and no enemies remain behind us.” As Artimas answered the halfling, he stepped down from the wagon and moved to a storage compartment built near its rear. He pulled the compartment open, calling softly “Igor, come, I have need of you.”</p><p></p><p>The sound of rustling as it rose to its feet, and then Igor pulled its rotting carcass from the closet. ‘Igor’ was in actuality the animated corpse of the party’s last thief, a man they had known only as the Mask. They had picked Mask up in the capital, and he had been an effective party member until the battle with the dragon, until he turned upon them and stabbed Artimas in the back as the dragon fell upon them. Jack hated the rogue even more than he hated Artimas, and he had turned and smashed the Mask in the ribcage with his great axe before worrying any further about the dragon. After the battle, Quinn had raised Jack from the death that had claimed him. Artimas rewarded Mask in a different fashion. Now his festering corpse staggered from its compartment and took the burning torch being handed to it. “Here, Igor, carry this and walk close behind me.”</p><p></p><p>Wrinkling his nose in distaste, Malobar moved to inspect the entrances of the two mausoleums. The larger of the two buildings had obviously been broken into at some point; chisel marks scored the door deeply. The other however, did not appear to be disturbed. In fact, a layer of plaster sealed the door except for a crack running along the bottom. The door to the smaller building was also decorated with some sort of crest and some letters scored into the stone. He looked closely, wiping dirt and grime from the letters. “This is in the Ancient Tongue!” he called over his shoulder. “It says ‘Chahir,’ must be a name, and then ‘Together for Eternity.’”</p><p></p><p>Artimas stroked his whiskers thoughtfully for a moment. “Chahir...means nothing to me. We will inspect the larger building first, since it is already open. Come, Igor, open this door for me.”</p><p></p><p>Jack stepped forward. “This is wrong, we should not disturb the dead,” he growled. “We are here to track the dark elves. Let us continue to the main crypt and try to find their entrance within.”</p><p></p><p>“Nonsense, Jack. There might be enemies within, we can’t leave them behind us unsearched,” came Artimas’ retort. “Besides, we might find something useful.”</p><p></p><p>“Suit yourself, necromancer,” Jack spat the word. “Don’t expect any help from me then if you find more than you expect.”</p><p></p><p>Artimas shrugged and turned to the larger mausoleum. Oblivious to the argument, the stupid zombie had carried out its last command and opened the door. Motioning for Welby to follow, he commanded the undead to enter and the pair followed it, searching the small area while the others waited outside. They quickly discovered that this place had been used as a campsite many times before, and housed four smaller crypts whose occupants had been robbed of belongings long ago. Artimas left the building and moved across the road to the other one, the zombie shambling behind. Unable to force the door, Artimas ordered the zombie to break the door down, ignoring Jack’s heated protests until the door finally split and fell to the floor inside, bringing a cloud of dust swirling out into the night. </p><p></p><p>The light of the torch dimly illuminated a small room thick with dust, bare of features other than two large sarcophagi rising from the floor. Malobar could see the expertly sculpted features of a man and woman adorning the pair of coffins. The room appeared undisturbed, but a vague sense of disquiet hung in the air. The dust lay thick and heavy across the room, and then he saw, by the sides of each coffin, a small dark patch, like earth laying upon the stone floor. </p><p></p><p>Malobar could feel the hair on his neck standing on end as he drew his sword and moved into the chamber. He heard the soft tread of Artimas and the slow shuffling gait of the zombie as they followed him into the chamber. He quickly motioned Artimas to wait by the entrance and silently crept further into the room. He approached the closer sarcophagus when the air changed density suddenly and a man materialized from the air before him. </p><p></p><p>The coarse looking man flashed him a grin that revealed a pair of wicked canines growing down and chuckled. He heard a cry behind him and glanced back to see a second figure had materialized beside Artimas. “Thought to rob the dead, did you?” the fiend laughed as it swung its fist towards him. “Yeah, that’s what we thought we’d do, too.”</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Sniktch, post: 400826, member: 7704"] [b]The adventure begins....[/b] Welby rose early the next morning, as he always did. He turned to find the wraith-like creature that had become his closest companion hovering near, awaiting his bidding. He preferred the shadow’s company, as he guessed he always had. It was simple, guileless, and he could communicate with it without speaking. He silently directed it to find something for breakfast. “Just not chicken,” he thought, “Never chicken.” He shuddered just a little. Chicken had been his favorite food, and his friends had chastised him many times for raiding farmers’ hencoops. It was just since they had fought that thing the others called a cockatrice, he had no stomach for it anymore. The shadow soon returned and told him that some goats had been left out to pasture overnight. Welby grunted and stepped over to the window, pulling it open and preparing to slip over the side, when he remembered. They were going on a bigger hunt today, they were hunting the black elves! He would wake the others before he ate. They would want to get an early start. ____________________________________________________ No dream, no thought penetrated the thick fog of Grick’s mind. He floated in complete oblivion, unaware of anything that should pass in the world around him. Then the numbing shock and sudden pain as the blow hit him. “Aaaaargh!” He roared and tried to leap to his feet, but got tangled in the soggy sheet and went tumbling to the floor, dripping water. “I’m truly sorry Grick, but the others are waiting. Everything is packed. They are anxious to start this journey. And to be honest with you, so am I.” Quinn’s voice piercing the painful fog. “Besides, you can go back to sleep on the cart.” “Everything is packed?” he rasped, hating the dry croak of his voice. “They packed the whiskey?” “Of course, Grick,” she sighed, and he heard her footsteps recede as she walked away. ___________________________________________________ Malobar was secretly pleased. He had grown worried about his choice, watching the adventurers drink late into each night and rise late in the day, except for the wizard. And the wizard! His cart was full of horrors - the scuttling detached human hand constantly busy with some task or another, the chattering, grinning skull, and the things that stared back at him from those sealed jars! No wonder the dwarf found him distasteful, though Jack was no fairer to the elf’s eyes. However, this morning some of his fears were laid to rest. He found them busy when he arose from reverie and ventured downstairs, loading the last couple of crates onto the covered wagon. Even the half-orc was present, though bleary eyed and clumsy. Perhaps this trip would not be a complete disaster. ___________________________________________________ The companions followed an old cart track running through the farmlands and surrounding wilds for about ten miles before reaching the Broken Hills. As twilight settled over them, Dalomar guided them to a worn shepherd path that wound through the hills. They passed several farmsteads as the darkness deepened, but the houses were burnt and empty, a silent testimony to the savagery of the drow. Finally they reached their destination. The trail rose toward an ancient graveyard overgrown with weeds and fallen to rubble. The path ran between two well-built stone mausoleums that has weathered the ages and led at last to a niche carved into the hillside. Just within, the stone doors of the crypt stood closed within a masonry alcove. Welby reined in the horses and lept off the seat of the wagon. He gestured at the two buildings, and the doors beyond, and turned back to face the others. “Yes, Welby, I believe we should check the buildings first. Best to make sure they are empty and no enemies remain behind us.” As Artimas answered the halfling, he stepped down from the wagon and moved to a storage compartment built near its rear. He pulled the compartment open, calling softly “Igor, come, I have need of you.” The sound of rustling as it rose to its feet, and then Igor pulled its rotting carcass from the closet. ‘Igor’ was in actuality the animated corpse of the party’s last thief, a man they had known only as the Mask. They had picked Mask up in the capital, and he had been an effective party member until the battle with the dragon, until he turned upon them and stabbed Artimas in the back as the dragon fell upon them. Jack hated the rogue even more than he hated Artimas, and he had turned and smashed the Mask in the ribcage with his great axe before worrying any further about the dragon. After the battle, Quinn had raised Jack from the death that had claimed him. Artimas rewarded Mask in a different fashion. Now his festering corpse staggered from its compartment and took the burning torch being handed to it. “Here, Igor, carry this and walk close behind me.” Wrinkling his nose in distaste, Malobar moved to inspect the entrances of the two mausoleums. The larger of the two buildings had obviously been broken into at some point; chisel marks scored the door deeply. The other however, did not appear to be disturbed. In fact, a layer of plaster sealed the door except for a crack running along the bottom. The door to the smaller building was also decorated with some sort of crest and some letters scored into the stone. He looked closely, wiping dirt and grime from the letters. “This is in the Ancient Tongue!” he called over his shoulder. “It says ‘Chahir,’ must be a name, and then ‘Together for Eternity.’” Artimas stroked his whiskers thoughtfully for a moment. “Chahir...means nothing to me. We will inspect the larger building first, since it is already open. Come, Igor, open this door for me.” Jack stepped forward. “This is wrong, we should not disturb the dead,” he growled. “We are here to track the dark elves. Let us continue to the main crypt and try to find their entrance within.” “Nonsense, Jack. There might be enemies within, we can’t leave them behind us unsearched,” came Artimas’ retort. “Besides, we might find something useful.” “Suit yourself, necromancer,” Jack spat the word. “Don’t expect any help from me then if you find more than you expect.” Artimas shrugged and turned to the larger mausoleum. Oblivious to the argument, the stupid zombie had carried out its last command and opened the door. Motioning for Welby to follow, he commanded the undead to enter and the pair followed it, searching the small area while the others waited outside. They quickly discovered that this place had been used as a campsite many times before, and housed four smaller crypts whose occupants had been robbed of belongings long ago. Artimas left the building and moved across the road to the other one, the zombie shambling behind. Unable to force the door, Artimas ordered the zombie to break the door down, ignoring Jack’s heated protests until the door finally split and fell to the floor inside, bringing a cloud of dust swirling out into the night. The light of the torch dimly illuminated a small room thick with dust, bare of features other than two large sarcophagi rising from the floor. Malobar could see the expertly sculpted features of a man and woman adorning the pair of coffins. The room appeared undisturbed, but a vague sense of disquiet hung in the air. The dust lay thick and heavy across the room, and then he saw, by the sides of each coffin, a small dark patch, like earth laying upon the stone floor. Malobar could feel the hair on his neck standing on end as he drew his sword and moved into the chamber. He heard the soft tread of Artimas and the slow shuffling gait of the zombie as they followed him into the chamber. He quickly motioned Artimas to wait by the entrance and silently crept further into the room. He approached the closer sarcophagus when the air changed density suddenly and a man materialized from the air before him. The coarse looking man flashed him a grin that revealed a pair of wicked canines growing down and chuckled. He heard a cry behind him and glanced back to see a second figure had materialized beside Artimas. “Thought to rob the dead, did you?” the fiend laughed as it swung its fist towards him. “Yeah, that’s what we thought we’d do, too.” [/QUOTE]
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Sniktch's Story Hour - City of the Spider Queen (Updated 04/25)
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