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Story Hour
The Fall of Civilization
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<blockquote data-quote="the Jester" data-source="post: 5006059" data-attributes="member: 1210"><p>Ligir bows. “I am Captain Ligir of the Imperial Army,” he announces. “We, uh, do not mean to disturb you, but if you work with the Six-Fingered Hand, we shall destroy you!”</p><p></p><p>The combat lulls- perhaps only for a taut moment- as the party takes in the lich, certain to be a very deadly opponent. There is a chance here, perhaps a very slim one, that such a battle can be held in abeyance.</p><p></p><p>“The Hand,” sneers the lich, “is no friend of mine.” Its eyes flash with cold blue light. “But if you seek to trouble me, I will do them the courtesy of destroying you.”</p><p></p><p></p><p>“What about the corpses in the bottom of the tower?” demands Torinn. “Did you or your agents kill them?”</p><p></p><p>“I have no need to kill the residents,” Krezjarl replies. “Enough of them die without my help. When I have need of a body, I send minions out to find one. Those,” he gestures at the cadavers hanging from hooks, “are preserved and are far less fresh than you probably expect.”</p><p></p><p>“If you are not their ally,” Hkatha says, cutting off Vann-la before she can give her own answer to Krezjarl (which is bound to be considerably cooler than the tiefling’s), “then perhaps you would be willing to work against them?”</p><p></p><p>“I am not interested in politics.”</p><p></p><p>“This is far more than politics!” exclaims the tiefling. “This is genocide! Look at what they have done to this city. When they came here, they burned, killed and raped.”</p><p></p><p>“Indeed,” the lich agrees with a nod.</p><p></p><p>By now, the taut moment has stretched so far that it snaps. The combatants step apart and lower their weapons, still glaring at each other, but no longer fighting. </p><p></p><p>“You were here?”</p><p></p><p>“I was, but not as you see me now. I was still alive then.” </p><p></p><p>The lich’s pronouncement takes Hkatha aback. </p><p></p><p>“In fact,” Krezjarl continues, “it was my need to be unmolested by them that led me attain my transcendence. I became a lich because they would not desist in trying to draw me forth into battle with them until I was no longer a human.”</p><p></p><p>“You could have helped fight them,” says Torinn. “They can be beaten. We are from a city that held out, beat back their army and prevailed.”</p><p></p><p>“Indeed? Remarkable. <em>This city</em> certainly couldn’t hold them back. It was a lost cause. I was not interested in throwing my life away.”</p><p></p><p>“But you were a citizen of the Empire?” Heimall asks.</p><p></p><p>“I was.”</p><p></p><p>“Do you still consider yourself one?”</p><p></p><p>“Does the Empire still exist?” counters Krezjarl.</p><p></p><p>“Yes,” Heimall answers firmly. “As long as Fandelose stands, the Empire stands. But we need allies. We need everyone that we can find to band together to keep them driven off. We-”</p><p></p><p>“I am not interested in fighting goblins,” sneers the lich. “Tell your people to stay away from my tower. My interests involve experiments in my laboratories, not petty battles. But if they leave me alone, I will leave them alone.”</p><p></p><p>“Perhaps,” Cook says, “we could continue our discussion over a meal?”</p><p></p><p>Krezjarl stares at him.</p><p></p><p>“I am a most skilled cook,” the dwarf explains.</p><p></p><p>Krezjarl cracks a ghastly smile. “Your cook is a dwarf? You are very brave people. I have many old spices and herbs in my tower.” He nods. “The kitchen is on the third floor, dwarf.”</p><p></p><p>***</p><p></p><p>As always, the party is somewhat dubious of Cook’s efforts, but Krezjarl seems amused by the situation. He clacks his jaw- perhaps the equivalent of smacking his lips, given that he has none?- and expresses quite an interest in sampling Cook’s viands.</p><p></p><p>At the top of his tower, Krezjarl has a viewing scope. When they peer through it, distant objects seem much closer. While Cook prepares the meal, everyone else spends some time looking through it, examining the surrounding lands as best they can. There are no large concentrations of troops that they can see, although Northshore, a city to the south of them along the banks of Lake Belwur, is visible, and there is some sort of large enclosure outside of it. “I think that there are people in there,” Vann-La says, “maybe forced workers? And there is a lot of greenery in there. I bet that enclosure is full of farms, and the people are forced to work them for the Hand.”</p><p></p><p>The party eats from old, cracked dishes that the lich hasn’t dug out in years, cleaned first by <em>prestidigitation</em>. The meal is somewhat bizarre, as Krezjarl eats, but the food merely falls through his skeletal form. After the main course is served, Vann-La unwraps a package and offers him a piece of chocolate.</p><p></p><p>“What a delicacy!” the lich exclaims. “Of course I shall have some!” He chews it up, and chocolaty smears end up all over the lower part of his skull and his phalanges. </p><p></p><p>All in all, a pleasurable- if bizarre- meal.</p><p></p><p>***</p><p></p><p>“What about trade?” asks Heimall. “Surely there must be something that you need?”</p><p></p><p>“Glassware,” the lich says. “Vials, bottles, jugs, containers of all sorts.”</p><p></p><p>“I am a representative of the Heinrikson clan, and we deal in many trade goods. I will see if they will send a representative to you to start trading. We must reestablish commerce and regain the lands claimed by the Hand if we are to have any hope of rebuilding.”</p><p></p><p>“I am not especially interested in helping you, but I do need the glassware,” the lich admits. “I will speak to your merchants. But warn them- I will destroy them if they attempt any treachery.”</p><p></p><p>“I assure you,” Heimall replies, “if we were going to fight you, we would do it here and now.”</p><p></p><p>Krezjarl laughs.</p><p></p><p>“Do you know anything about death knights?” asks Vann-La. “We have to destroy one.”</p><p></p><p>“Yes,” replies Krezjarl. “Their souls are bound to their weapons. To truly destroy one, you must also destroy its weapon.”</p><p></p><p>“We mean to kill Arawn.”</p><p></p><p>“You are quite ambitious,” Krezjarl observes. “He has four other death knight lieutenants.”</p><p></p><p>“What!”</p><p></p><p>“Indeed.”</p><p></p><p>“What about sigil sequences?” Iggy queries. “Do you have any you would be willing to share?”</p><p></p><p>“No.”</p><p></p><p>“Then perhaps you know where there might be some?” asks Hkatha.</p><p></p><p>The lich smiles at him and licks a little chocolate off its fingers. Then he says, “There was a great library in Northshore. It is possible that there are a number of them recorded in its remains.”</p><p></p><p>***</p><p></p><p>It looks to be about a week’s journey to reach Northshore, which (our heroes determine) should be the party’s next destination. When it becomes obvious that the lich is tiring of their company, the party leaves. It is full dark by now, but that’s okay. They put a fair amount of distance between themselves and the tower before they make camp, and before they go to bed, Hkatha <em>sends</em> a report to Colonel Jaxe. His reply: <em>Examine situation in Northshore. Prepare for liberation. Tell the people to come to Fandelose. Will have troops on the way.</em></p><p></p><p>In the morning, they head south.</p><p></p><p>***</p><p></p><p>Three more days of travel, and they encounter a small group of survivors, including a man whose hands have been severed. The party tells them of Fandelose’ triumph over the Hand, and discovers that the survivors are from Northshore. </p><p></p><p>“How did you get free?” asks Iggy.</p><p></p><p>“We were rescued,” replies one of the survivors, “by Summer.” </p><p></p><p>“Who is Summer?”</p><p></p><p>“We’ll take you to her.”</p><p></p><p>***</p><p></p><p>Summer turns out to be a tough-looking woman wearing a pair of horns, somewhat feline in appearance. Vann-La discerns that she is not exactly human; in fact, after some study, she decides that Summer must be what is known as a <em>shifter</em>- a person with lycanthrope blood in their background. Less than a full shapechanger, a shifter could take on minor aspects of its ancestral lycanthrope. She tells the party that she has helped rescue dozens of the people of Northshore from their enslavement, but as many as a couple thousand remain, forced to serve the Six-Fingered Hand. “The general is called Sharm the Terrible, and he is a vicious kobold,” Summer continues. “He is responsible for much misery.”</p><p></p><p>“Well, we mean to end his reign,” declares Heimall. “In the name of the Empire!”</p><p></p><p>“You must have an army with you, to be so ambitious.”</p><p></p><p>“There’s one on the way, but I see no need to wait for it. We will destroy this Sharm the Terrible. We’ve already killed another of the Hand’s generals- Heshwat the Eviscerator. I use his glaive.”</p><p></p><p>“It may not be the right time,” she says. “One of Arawn’s lieutenants is there right now, checking up on things.”</p><p></p><p>“One of the other death knights?” asks Iggy.</p><p></p><p>“<em>Other</em> death knights?” exclaims Summer. </p><p></p><p>”Yeah, he has four lieutenants. We just found out about them.”</p><p></p><p>“Regardless of who it is,” Torinn says, “we’ll slay him and free Northshore.”</p><p></p><p>Vann-La nods. Summer looks the group over. “You look like you mean it,” she says. “But you could probably use my help.”</p><p></p><p>“Welcome aboard,” replies Iggy.</p><p></p><p><em><strong>Next Time:</strong></em> To free Northshore!</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="the Jester, post: 5006059, member: 1210"] Ligir bows. “I am Captain Ligir of the Imperial Army,” he announces. “We, uh, do not mean to disturb you, but if you work with the Six-Fingered Hand, we shall destroy you!” The combat lulls- perhaps only for a taut moment- as the party takes in the lich, certain to be a very deadly opponent. There is a chance here, perhaps a very slim one, that such a battle can be held in abeyance. “The Hand,” sneers the lich, “is no friend of mine.” Its eyes flash with cold blue light. “But if you seek to trouble me, I will do them the courtesy of destroying you.” “What about the corpses in the bottom of the tower?” demands Torinn. “Did you or your agents kill them?” “I have no need to kill the residents,” Krezjarl replies. “Enough of them die without my help. When I have need of a body, I send minions out to find one. Those,” he gestures at the cadavers hanging from hooks, “are preserved and are far less fresh than you probably expect.” “If you are not their ally,” Hkatha says, cutting off Vann-la before she can give her own answer to Krezjarl (which is bound to be considerably cooler than the tiefling’s), “then perhaps you would be willing to work against them?” “I am not interested in politics.” “This is far more than politics!” exclaims the tiefling. “This is genocide! Look at what they have done to this city. When they came here, they burned, killed and raped.” “Indeed,” the lich agrees with a nod. By now, the taut moment has stretched so far that it snaps. The combatants step apart and lower their weapons, still glaring at each other, but no longer fighting. “You were here?” “I was, but not as you see me now. I was still alive then.” The lich’s pronouncement takes Hkatha aback. “In fact,” Krezjarl continues, “it was my need to be unmolested by them that led me attain my transcendence. I became a lich because they would not desist in trying to draw me forth into battle with them until I was no longer a human.” “You could have helped fight them,” says Torinn. “They can be beaten. We are from a city that held out, beat back their army and prevailed.” “Indeed? Remarkable. [i]This city[/i] certainly couldn’t hold them back. It was a lost cause. I was not interested in throwing my life away.” “But you were a citizen of the Empire?” Heimall asks. “I was.” “Do you still consider yourself one?” “Does the Empire still exist?” counters Krezjarl. “Yes,” Heimall answers firmly. “As long as Fandelose stands, the Empire stands. But we need allies. We need everyone that we can find to band together to keep them driven off. We-” “I am not interested in fighting goblins,” sneers the lich. “Tell your people to stay away from my tower. My interests involve experiments in my laboratories, not petty battles. But if they leave me alone, I will leave them alone.” “Perhaps,” Cook says, “we could continue our discussion over a meal?” Krezjarl stares at him. “I am a most skilled cook,” the dwarf explains. Krezjarl cracks a ghastly smile. “Your cook is a dwarf? You are very brave people. I have many old spices and herbs in my tower.” He nods. “The kitchen is on the third floor, dwarf.” *** As always, the party is somewhat dubious of Cook’s efforts, but Krezjarl seems amused by the situation. He clacks his jaw- perhaps the equivalent of smacking his lips, given that he has none?- and expresses quite an interest in sampling Cook’s viands. At the top of his tower, Krezjarl has a viewing scope. When they peer through it, distant objects seem much closer. While Cook prepares the meal, everyone else spends some time looking through it, examining the surrounding lands as best they can. There are no large concentrations of troops that they can see, although Northshore, a city to the south of them along the banks of Lake Belwur, is visible, and there is some sort of large enclosure outside of it. “I think that there are people in there,” Vann-La says, “maybe forced workers? And there is a lot of greenery in there. I bet that enclosure is full of farms, and the people are forced to work them for the Hand.” The party eats from old, cracked dishes that the lich hasn’t dug out in years, cleaned first by [i]prestidigitation[/i]. The meal is somewhat bizarre, as Krezjarl eats, but the food merely falls through his skeletal form. After the main course is served, Vann-La unwraps a package and offers him a piece of chocolate. “What a delicacy!” the lich exclaims. “Of course I shall have some!” He chews it up, and chocolaty smears end up all over the lower part of his skull and his phalanges. All in all, a pleasurable- if bizarre- meal. *** “What about trade?” asks Heimall. “Surely there must be something that you need?” “Glassware,” the lich says. “Vials, bottles, jugs, containers of all sorts.” “I am a representative of the Heinrikson clan, and we deal in many trade goods. I will see if they will send a representative to you to start trading. We must reestablish commerce and regain the lands claimed by the Hand if we are to have any hope of rebuilding.” “I am not especially interested in helping you, but I do need the glassware,” the lich admits. “I will speak to your merchants. But warn them- I will destroy them if they attempt any treachery.” “I assure you,” Heimall replies, “if we were going to fight you, we would do it here and now.” Krezjarl laughs. “Do you know anything about death knights?” asks Vann-La. “We have to destroy one.” “Yes,” replies Krezjarl. “Their souls are bound to their weapons. To truly destroy one, you must also destroy its weapon.” “We mean to kill Arawn.” “You are quite ambitious,” Krezjarl observes. “He has four other death knight lieutenants.” “What!” “Indeed.” “What about sigil sequences?” Iggy queries. “Do you have any you would be willing to share?” “No.” “Then perhaps you know where there might be some?” asks Hkatha. The lich smiles at him and licks a little chocolate off its fingers. Then he says, “There was a great library in Northshore. It is possible that there are a number of them recorded in its remains.” *** It looks to be about a week’s journey to reach Northshore, which (our heroes determine) should be the party’s next destination. When it becomes obvious that the lich is tiring of their company, the party leaves. It is full dark by now, but that’s okay. They put a fair amount of distance between themselves and the tower before they make camp, and before they go to bed, Hkatha [i]sends[/i] a report to Colonel Jaxe. His reply: [i]Examine situation in Northshore. Prepare for liberation. Tell the people to come to Fandelose. Will have troops on the way.[/i] In the morning, they head south. *** Three more days of travel, and they encounter a small group of survivors, including a man whose hands have been severed. The party tells them of Fandelose’ triumph over the Hand, and discovers that the survivors are from Northshore. “How did you get free?” asks Iggy. “We were rescued,” replies one of the survivors, “by Summer.” “Who is Summer?” “We’ll take you to her.” *** Summer turns out to be a tough-looking woman wearing a pair of horns, somewhat feline in appearance. Vann-La discerns that she is not exactly human; in fact, after some study, she decides that Summer must be what is known as a [i]shifter[/i]- a person with lycanthrope blood in their background. Less than a full shapechanger, a shifter could take on minor aspects of its ancestral lycanthrope. She tells the party that she has helped rescue dozens of the people of Northshore from their enslavement, but as many as a couple thousand remain, forced to serve the Six-Fingered Hand. “The general is called Sharm the Terrible, and he is a vicious kobold,” Summer continues. “He is responsible for much misery.” “Well, we mean to end his reign,” declares Heimall. “In the name of the Empire!” “You must have an army with you, to be so ambitious.” “There’s one on the way, but I see no need to wait for it. We will destroy this Sharm the Terrible. We’ve already killed another of the Hand’s generals- Heshwat the Eviscerator. I use his glaive.” “It may not be the right time,” she says. “One of Arawn’s lieutenants is there right now, checking up on things.” “One of the other death knights?” asks Iggy. “[i]Other[/i] death knights?” exclaims Summer. ”Yeah, he has four lieutenants. We just found out about them.” “Regardless of who it is,” Torinn says, “we’ll slay him and free Northshore.” Vann-La nods. Summer looks the group over. “You look like you mean it,” she says. “But you could probably use my help.” “Welcome aboard,” replies Iggy. [i][b]Next Time:[/b][/i][b][/b] To free Northshore! [/QUOTE]
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