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The Red Hand of Doom - Completed 8 February 2008: Against Tiamat and Epilogue
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<blockquote data-quote="Pedestrian" data-source="post: 3873660" data-attributes="member: 40208"><p><strong>Session 10: The Lion of the Thornwaste</strong></p><p></p><p>Session 10: The Lion of the Thornwaste</p><p>Xerxes noted the ghostly forms of lions flitting about the lion statue, fleeting creatures that sent a chill down the part of his soul that was still his. He knew he could reach forth and, with the barest will, snuff them out, but they were not important. The eerie phantasms were little more than fragments of the once proud beasts. He turned his attention to the Lion. It was ancient, for this heathen land, perhaps a millennia old, weathered by time and rain, but still remarkably intact. He wondered what sorcery had made such a colossus.</p><p></p><p>Sol was completely nonplussed, heading forward between the cat’s paws, where he froze. Xerxes hurried after him, finally seeing what had given his friend paws. Hunched and waiting were the skeletons of two massive cats, guarding the broad stairway into the heart of the beast. But the skeletons were as stony and immobile as the great lion. Sol shook his head and sighing, flashing Xerxes a grin as they passed the statues. He even tapped one with his axe playfully.</p><p></p><p>As they gained the stairs, a massive serpentine beast launched itself out of the lion, straight for Xerxes. A behir! But no, there was something different something… wrong about the creature. Xerxes skipped back steps, pulling forth from the dark font of the tenebrous presence within him, gripping the monster’s heart in an icy claw and squeezing. The creature faultered, but only for the barest second. This was no normal behir, but a monster birthed of the unholy pit. Striations on the beasts flank, colourless in the night, hinted at relationship with Tiamat’s brood.</p><p></p><p>The maw descended, enveloping him. Outside, he heard Sol bellow, but he could not make out what. Though panic rose in him, the second his initial onslaught had bought him allowed a moment of planning. He blasted with the cold wind of the Other, and with his mind reached out across the Shadow. The behir’s jaws closed with a snap, but Xerxes was away, across the room on a pile of bones. It hissed and span, rumbling in profane language for the interdiction of its patron, and was answered. Xerxes shrugged off the blandishment and continued battering at the monster with gusts of air.</p><p></p><p>A furious scream from the other side of the Behir filled the cavern. “XERXES!” roared Sol, and a blossom of blood and gore spread from the creature’s flank as it split in half, its guts spilling out across the floor. A final roar, and it was finished, Sol still trying to split its body in a frustrated search.</p><p></p><p>“Sol, here!” called Xerxes. Relief flooded the half-Orc’s face, but was quickly gone.</p><p></p><p>“Hobgoblins,” he pointed one bloody hand to the lower jaw of the lion, “up there.” Xerxes ran forward, taking hold of Sol. He closed his eyes and once more pushed through the Shadow. He was certain he heard Sol screaming as they went, but he shut out the sound, thinking only of their destination, not of where they were.</p><p></p><p>They reappeared a heartbeat later in the mouth of the lion, and Xerxes felt the presence of Tenebrous recede, spent. Overhead and around were stone fangs as big as a man. The pair wasted no time, rushing toward a pair of heavy stone doors. A solid boot, and they were open. The hobgoblins inside were caught surprised, potions in hand.</p><p></p><p>With a whoop, Sol was upon them, his axe spinning in a wide arc, bloodying them both. Xerxes followed up with twin bursts of icy wind, slamming them to the floor. “There were three of ‘em!” No time to waste, they hurried on, shouldering aside more doors to stairs leading down. They all but jumped down the stairs, but all they found was an empty room. Doors east and north.</p><p></p><p>Some quick thinking, east would lead back out it seemed, north deeper in. With no sign of the fled hobgoblin, they decided north. They found a room crowded with jars and tools, with several large tables, similar in design to things Xerxes recognised from his brief training with a surgeon in the Empire. The thought of what had gone on on those blood-stained slabs of stone turned his stomach.</p><p></p><p>Sol was occupied with a pit in the corner of the room. Xerxes, with his eldritch vision, could see to the bottom, a long way down. Sol, who’s own nightvision failed much before that depth, rummaged in his pack for a bit before producing a little pellet, a huge fanged grin on his face. Xerxes recalled when Sol had bought the daylight stone, his first purchase as a free man, from a merchant in a Dennovarian bazaar. Smiling all the while, the half Orc rubbed the sun symbol on the pebble and flicked it down the hole. It bounced off the walls as it fell, finally hitting the floor, reflecting off a pool of water. Sol shrugged and turned away.</p><p></p><p>Across the room was another door, and they pressed on. Neither of them needed light, so Xerxes could not tell whether the elaborate and grisly decorations on the walls were painted or not. Images of lions hunting humans, falling upon them, feasting on their still screaming bodies. He was still enough of himself to be disgusted.</p><p></p><p>They pushed open another stone door, swinging easily on stone pins, opening into a large chamber, illuminated by a sickly green pool in which something span. In alcoves along the room, things crept. Xerxes had never encountered their like, and one hand fled to his belt, retrieving the Book of All Hours. Mechanically, he flicked through the pages as he filled his heart with the Shadow. In the Book it read:</p><p></p><p><em>Bonedrinkers</em></p><p><em>Undead spawn of goblin kin</em></p><p><em>Hungry for the marrow of bone</em></p><p><em>They come as tentacled doom</em></p><p><em>Know that to win</em></p><p><em>Rely not on fire nor cold</em></p><p><em>Neither will screams avail</em></p><p><em>To attain victory in this travail</em></p><p><em>You must rush in and be bold</em></p><p><em>As with all of the deathless</em></p><p><em>Faith reminds them they are breathless</em></p><p></p><p>The Shadow in his heart bubbled to full potency, and he blasted the goblin-spawned undead with the malediction of a god dead, flensing them of a portion of their vitality. They bounded forward, met by Sol’s spinning axe, cutting one down, but the others piled in, flailing with claws and tentacles.</p><p></p><p>He and Sol fought back to back, Xerxes with the force of the Other, Sol with strength of arms. Yet the sheer number of Bonedrinkers was too much, and Xerxes felt himself weaken, tumble. Sol shifted stance, stepping protectively over his fallen friend, slaying two more, stopping the advance of another. His whirling blade moved like silver lightning, an avalanche of steel, the incomparable skill born in him and honed on the bloody sands of Srax. Yet it could not be everywhere, and even mighty Sol faltered. Xerxes watched in a haze as Sol faltered, stooped to one knee, forced to lash clumsily with his axe simply to keep the drinkers back.</p><p></p><p>The Shadow moved in his mind, welling in his heart. Once more, just once. He closed his eyes, letting the black power move through him, blasting the remaining Bonedrinkers into darkness. Seeing the enemy vanish into putrescent smoke before them, Sol collapsed against the wall, leaving a bloody smear behind him.</p><p></p><p>“Good… good work Xerx,” he gasped. Xerxes shuffled up beside his friend and, with one thumb hooked in the belt Kayan had gifted him with, placed the other on Sol. The countless wounds on the half Orc sealed, though he was still slick with his own blood and painfully bruised. Xerxes was about to channel more healing into Sol, but the big half Orc grabbed his wrist at the last moment, and lay it on Xerxes’ own chest.</p><p></p><p>“Can’t do it all on my own, mate,” smiled the big half-Orc, achingly rising to his feet, and offered Xerxes his hand. He gratefully took it. “Don’t fancy going near that pool. Probably some sort of squiddy beast in there. What do you reckon is in there?” He pointed a thick finger north, where a short passage led into another chamber.</p><p></p><p>Xerxes shrugged, and led the way. They came to a smaller chamber, in which floated a shadowy obsidian orb, nearly the size of a man. Around it orbited flickers of orange light which looked, from the corner of the eye, like lions. Sol froze.</p><p></p><p>“I remember stories from the tribe. My old aunt used to tell all us sproggs about wizards who stole souls and kept ‘em in jars. Jars like this.” Xerxes raised an eyebrow, and once more referred to the Book, which provided only this:</p><p></p><p><em>Sometime the blackest</em></p><p><em>Deeds of man are not against him</em></p><p><em>A heart turned on nature</em></p><p></p><p>Xerxes probed the orb with the awareness of the Other but could find nothing. Frustrated, the two backed out into the previous chamber, and decided to follow and earlier branch they had found before Bonelasher chamber.</p><p></p><p>After hurrying through the dark, they found another door and, past it, an abandoned room thick with dusk and crowded with lion-themed art, tomes and items, a hodgepodge collection of odds and ends. After digging through the mess of sculptures and pictures, they had found no clue as to where to look next. Perhaps a return to the Orb, and attempt to disturb it?</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Pedestrian, post: 3873660, member: 40208"] [b]Session 10: The Lion of the Thornwaste[/b] Session 10: The Lion of the Thornwaste Xerxes noted the ghostly forms of lions flitting about the lion statue, fleeting creatures that sent a chill down the part of his soul that was still his. He knew he could reach forth and, with the barest will, snuff them out, but they were not important. The eerie phantasms were little more than fragments of the once proud beasts. He turned his attention to the Lion. It was ancient, for this heathen land, perhaps a millennia old, weathered by time and rain, but still remarkably intact. He wondered what sorcery had made such a colossus. Sol was completely nonplussed, heading forward between the cat’s paws, where he froze. Xerxes hurried after him, finally seeing what had given his friend paws. Hunched and waiting were the skeletons of two massive cats, guarding the broad stairway into the heart of the beast. But the skeletons were as stony and immobile as the great lion. Sol shook his head and sighing, flashing Xerxes a grin as they passed the statues. He even tapped one with his axe playfully. As they gained the stairs, a massive serpentine beast launched itself out of the lion, straight for Xerxes. A behir! But no, there was something different something… wrong about the creature. Xerxes skipped back steps, pulling forth from the dark font of the tenebrous presence within him, gripping the monster’s heart in an icy claw and squeezing. The creature faultered, but only for the barest second. This was no normal behir, but a monster birthed of the unholy pit. Striations on the beasts flank, colourless in the night, hinted at relationship with Tiamat’s brood. The maw descended, enveloping him. Outside, he heard Sol bellow, but he could not make out what. Though panic rose in him, the second his initial onslaught had bought him allowed a moment of planning. He blasted with the cold wind of the Other, and with his mind reached out across the Shadow. The behir’s jaws closed with a snap, but Xerxes was away, across the room on a pile of bones. It hissed and span, rumbling in profane language for the interdiction of its patron, and was answered. Xerxes shrugged off the blandishment and continued battering at the monster with gusts of air. A furious scream from the other side of the Behir filled the cavern. “XERXES!” roared Sol, and a blossom of blood and gore spread from the creature’s flank as it split in half, its guts spilling out across the floor. A final roar, and it was finished, Sol still trying to split its body in a frustrated search. “Sol, here!” called Xerxes. Relief flooded the half-Orc’s face, but was quickly gone. “Hobgoblins,” he pointed one bloody hand to the lower jaw of the lion, “up there.” Xerxes ran forward, taking hold of Sol. He closed his eyes and once more pushed through the Shadow. He was certain he heard Sol screaming as they went, but he shut out the sound, thinking only of their destination, not of where they were. They reappeared a heartbeat later in the mouth of the lion, and Xerxes felt the presence of Tenebrous recede, spent. Overhead and around were stone fangs as big as a man. The pair wasted no time, rushing toward a pair of heavy stone doors. A solid boot, and they were open. The hobgoblins inside were caught surprised, potions in hand. With a whoop, Sol was upon them, his axe spinning in a wide arc, bloodying them both. Xerxes followed up with twin bursts of icy wind, slamming them to the floor. “There were three of ‘em!” No time to waste, they hurried on, shouldering aside more doors to stairs leading down. They all but jumped down the stairs, but all they found was an empty room. Doors east and north. Some quick thinking, east would lead back out it seemed, north deeper in. With no sign of the fled hobgoblin, they decided north. They found a room crowded with jars and tools, with several large tables, similar in design to things Xerxes recognised from his brief training with a surgeon in the Empire. The thought of what had gone on on those blood-stained slabs of stone turned his stomach. Sol was occupied with a pit in the corner of the room. Xerxes, with his eldritch vision, could see to the bottom, a long way down. Sol, who’s own nightvision failed much before that depth, rummaged in his pack for a bit before producing a little pellet, a huge fanged grin on his face. Xerxes recalled when Sol had bought the daylight stone, his first purchase as a free man, from a merchant in a Dennovarian bazaar. Smiling all the while, the half Orc rubbed the sun symbol on the pebble and flicked it down the hole. It bounced off the walls as it fell, finally hitting the floor, reflecting off a pool of water. Sol shrugged and turned away. Across the room was another door, and they pressed on. Neither of them needed light, so Xerxes could not tell whether the elaborate and grisly decorations on the walls were painted or not. Images of lions hunting humans, falling upon them, feasting on their still screaming bodies. He was still enough of himself to be disgusted. They pushed open another stone door, swinging easily on stone pins, opening into a large chamber, illuminated by a sickly green pool in which something span. In alcoves along the room, things crept. Xerxes had never encountered their like, and one hand fled to his belt, retrieving the Book of All Hours. Mechanically, he flicked through the pages as he filled his heart with the Shadow. In the Book it read: [I]Bonedrinkers Undead spawn of goblin kin Hungry for the marrow of bone They come as tentacled doom Know that to win Rely not on fire nor cold Neither will screams avail To attain victory in this travail You must rush in and be bold As with all of the deathless Faith reminds them they are breathless[/I] The Shadow in his heart bubbled to full potency, and he blasted the goblin-spawned undead with the malediction of a god dead, flensing them of a portion of their vitality. They bounded forward, met by Sol’s spinning axe, cutting one down, but the others piled in, flailing with claws and tentacles. He and Sol fought back to back, Xerxes with the force of the Other, Sol with strength of arms. Yet the sheer number of Bonedrinkers was too much, and Xerxes felt himself weaken, tumble. Sol shifted stance, stepping protectively over his fallen friend, slaying two more, stopping the advance of another. His whirling blade moved like silver lightning, an avalanche of steel, the incomparable skill born in him and honed on the bloody sands of Srax. Yet it could not be everywhere, and even mighty Sol faltered. Xerxes watched in a haze as Sol faltered, stooped to one knee, forced to lash clumsily with his axe simply to keep the drinkers back. The Shadow moved in his mind, welling in his heart. Once more, just once. He closed his eyes, letting the black power move through him, blasting the remaining Bonedrinkers into darkness. Seeing the enemy vanish into putrescent smoke before them, Sol collapsed against the wall, leaving a bloody smear behind him. “Good… good work Xerx,” he gasped. Xerxes shuffled up beside his friend and, with one thumb hooked in the belt Kayan had gifted him with, placed the other on Sol. The countless wounds on the half Orc sealed, though he was still slick with his own blood and painfully bruised. Xerxes was about to channel more healing into Sol, but the big half Orc grabbed his wrist at the last moment, and lay it on Xerxes’ own chest. “Can’t do it all on my own, mate,” smiled the big half-Orc, achingly rising to his feet, and offered Xerxes his hand. He gratefully took it. “Don’t fancy going near that pool. Probably some sort of squiddy beast in there. What do you reckon is in there?” He pointed a thick finger north, where a short passage led into another chamber. Xerxes shrugged, and led the way. They came to a smaller chamber, in which floated a shadowy obsidian orb, nearly the size of a man. Around it orbited flickers of orange light which looked, from the corner of the eye, like lions. Sol froze. “I remember stories from the tribe. My old aunt used to tell all us sproggs about wizards who stole souls and kept ‘em in jars. Jars like this.” Xerxes raised an eyebrow, and once more referred to the Book, which provided only this: [I]Sometime the blackest Deeds of man are not against him A heart turned on nature[/I] Xerxes probed the orb with the awareness of the Other but could find nothing. Frustrated, the two backed out into the previous chamber, and decided to follow and earlier branch they had found before Bonelasher chamber. After hurrying through the dark, they found another door and, past it, an abandoned room thick with dusk and crowded with lion-themed art, tomes and items, a hodgepodge collection of odds and ends. After digging through the mess of sculptures and pictures, they had found no clue as to where to look next. Perhaps a return to the Orb, and attempt to disturb it? [/QUOTE]
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The Red Hand of Doom - Completed 8 February 2008: Against Tiamat and Epilogue
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