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The Risen Goddess (Updated 3.10.08)
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Re: Egotism v. Egoism
The discussion in question is pretty much the only in-character talk we've had about Taran's beliefs, but I think that brief passage sums up Taran's point of view fairly well.
He also has a convoluted notion about the importance of fealty, and exactly how the "ideal state" should be structured, but that's an argument for another day.
What Taran really needs is a like-thinking companion. (hint, hint)
I told you!
It gets much better, too, so be sure to check in. Elminster turns out to be a pretty cool NPC, after all. I'm almost ready to make several rapid updates in a row. We're about 5 sessions ahead of my logs, which means about 10 updates (the way some of these sessions have been running-- yikes!)
Also I've kept round-by-round notes on the fighting, and since the battles are so epic, I've logged them essentially as they played out at the table. That means the updates will tend to go: Big ass fight / Role-play world events / Big ass fight / Role-play, etc.
Let me know, gentle readers, what you think-- in the past I've tended to just hit the highlights of the brawls. If you like the detail, speak up, and if you don't like it you don't really have to be gentle. (I'm about 80% Taran and only 20% Jespo anyway.)
JERandall said:
The discussion in question is pretty much the only in-character talk we've had about Taran's beliefs, but I think that brief passage sums up Taran's point of view fairly well.
He also has a convoluted notion about the importance of fealty, and exactly how the "ideal state" should be structured, but that's an argument for another day.
What Taran really needs is a like-thinking companion. (hint, hint)
I told you!
It gets much better, too, so be sure to check in. Elminster turns out to be a pretty cool NPC, after all. I'm almost ready to make several rapid updates in a row. We're about 5 sessions ahead of my logs, which means about 10 updates (the way some of these sessions have been running-- yikes!)Also I've kept round-by-round notes on the fighting, and since the battles are so epic, I've logged them essentially as they played out at the table. That means the updates will tend to go: Big ass fight / Role-play world events / Big ass fight / Role-play, etc.
Let me know, gentle readers, what you think-- in the past I've tended to just hit the highlights of the brawls. If you like the detail, speak up, and if you don't like it you don't really have to be gentle. (I'm about 80% Taran and only 20% Jespo anyway.)
(contact)
Explorer
55—A neighborly visit, threats and all.
The next morning, the three Champions of the Risen Goddess hold a strategy meeting, and determine that they wish to know more about the divine conflict, specifically about the demonic ex-servant of Palatin Eremath, Scaladar.
Thelbar says, “I cannot vision him, as the spell is not known to me. But we are not without recourse. I think it is time we called in a favor.
That afternoon, the group stands before the tower of Elminster, sage of Shadowdale, and knocks boldly on the door. To their surprise, the sage himself answers, dressed casually, and without his customary pipe and hat.
“You’re a bit behind schedule, aren’t you?” Elminster says. “I expected you two days ago.”
“We’ve had numerous affairs demanding our attention,” Thelbar says. “Had I known we were keeping you . . .”
“Numerous affairs of greater import than the destruction of your home?” Elminster asks with a raised eyebrow.
“Yes,” Kyreel says.
“We have come for a favor, revered sage,” Thelbar says with a bow.
“They always do,” Elminster mutters to himself. “Come in, come in. You might as well frighten me where it is warm.”
The party is led to a cozy study, a bit cramped for all the books, whirligigs and half-finished meals it contains, but the group manages to find places to hunker down and relax.
“I need vision,” Thelbar says.
“I suppose I could help you,” Elminster says. “But it is a taxing spell for an old man like myself, and not a thing to be taken lightly. Who do you wish to vision?”
“I would never ask a wizard of your years to cast spells for me, great sage,” Thelbar says. “I wish to purchase a scroll of vision, that I might make my own divinations.”
“Ah, but I gave that business up a long time ago,” Elminster says, a twinkle in his eye. “Much easier on the writing elbow, you know. Give me a name, or I’m afraid I cannot help you at all.”
Thelbar, wishing to put an end to the sly cat-and-mouse exchange, says “Arunshee.”
Elminster pauses, suddenly solemn and suspicious. “Casting divinations on the gods is neither a healthy or sane past-time, Thelbar Tar-Ilou,” he says.
“Neither is toying with me when direct questions would suffice, revered sage,” Thelbar says.
“Arunshee is not herself,” Kyreel says.
“Yes, the wise ones say she is dead,” Elminster says. “But how such a thing might have come to be remains a mystery. I suspect you know much about this matter, if the Harpers’ accusations about you are true.”
“Gods-damned harpers,” Taran says.
“Lolth has died, and Arunshee is reborn,” Kyreel says.
“Lolth has entered the pasoun,” Thelbar says. “She has returned as Sharlequannan, and it was her birth that the portents marked. Our accusers are misguided, and their accusations are hollow. Of course we attend ‘Lolth’. Lolth is sister to our goddess after all, and has been reborn from a desire to walk the path of good. We intend to shepherd her and keep her from those drow who would have their Spider Queen back, or worse.”
Thelbar smiles at Elminster’s blank expression, then says, “Palatin Eremath is healing old rifts, and bringing her allies to her side. But we do not have the whole of it, and if we are to prevent the worst we must have the whole of it. Vision the name Scaladar, and share with us what you find, revered one.”
Elminster agrees, and disappears into the recesses of his tower. Taran rolls his eyes once Elminster leaves, and makes disparaging hand gestures, then mimics a harp-playing court buffoon. Kyreel scowls at him, and pinches his arm.
A few moments later, Elminster returns, his eyes narrow. “I feel as if I have been tricked, Thelbar Tar-Ilou, and I like it not.”
“Tricked, revered sage?” Thelbar says. “I assure you no such intent crossed my mind. Scaladar is the fallen right-hand to the goddess Palatin Eremath.”
“Indeed he is, Tar-Ilou, and my vision confirmed this fact. But he is better known by his other names: Orcus, demon prince slain by Kiransalee and reborn to the world as Tenebrous. He has returned from the dead as well, but not quite like your goddess. Your Scaladar is an undead god.”
-----
“I do not hold with the party line regarding you three,” Elminster says, after the group has finished their meal of exotic cheeses, hard-baked bread and spiced wine. “I have heard the accusations made in public, and I have heard the accusations made in private. Fortunately, my superiors would have me remain aloof, and do not expect me to become involved in these sorts of quarrels.
“As for myself,” he continues, “I cannot find any fault with a reclamation of the Far Forest, and the elimination of the fiends that inhabit it. Further, the rebirth of the Spider Queen can only be to all of our benefit. But this thing with the other good faiths of the land—can it not be repaired?”
“They started it!” Taran exclaims. “Tell them to rebuild my house, buy me new furniture, and replace my trophies. Then we’ll see who doesn’t get the hard side of the hand.”
“My brother speaks the truth,” Thelbar says. “For my part, I think you are more astute than to ask the ones who neither instigated nor participated in a quarrel if it can be mended. I think you mean to find out how we will respond.”
“I do,” Elminster admits.
“We have greater concerns than these priests and their frothy allegations. When we have ensured the safety of our people, and all those who are under the pasoun, then we shall see. I am not the cleric that my companion is, but I am cleric enough to know that the affairs of the gods must be left to the gods. We will remain faithful to our goddess’ teachings. In absence of her clear intent, we will approach this quarrel simply, as would any thing in nature.”
“I hear the threat implied in your words, Tar-Ilou,” Elminster says. “Can I not implore you to be at peace?”
“Our hearts are not closed to nonviolent resolution,” Thelbar says. “But we would require a show of good intent that rivals their show of hostility in order to be fully convinced that such a peace is possible. Do you think that is likely to happen?” After several moments pass where Elminster makes no reply, Thelbar continues, “Neither do I, revered sage.”
Taran leans forward and says, “Hey, if you kick the manticore, you’re going to get the tail.”
-----
The party leaves from Elminster’s home, and heads for Daggerdale. Along the way, Taran scuffs at the ground and curses from time to time, bemoaning the loss of his home, and its prized furnishings.
“I’d just gotten the downstairs study together,” he whines. “the Turmish rug was perfect with the stained-wood cabinet. And now that Sembia is at war, how am I supposed to replace them?”
The next morning, the three Champions of the Risen Goddess hold a strategy meeting, and determine that they wish to know more about the divine conflict, specifically about the demonic ex-servant of Palatin Eremath, Scaladar.
Thelbar says, “I cannot vision him, as the spell is not known to me. But we are not without recourse. I think it is time we called in a favor.
That afternoon, the group stands before the tower of Elminster, sage of Shadowdale, and knocks boldly on the door. To their surprise, the sage himself answers, dressed casually, and without his customary pipe and hat.
“You’re a bit behind schedule, aren’t you?” Elminster says. “I expected you two days ago.”
“We’ve had numerous affairs demanding our attention,” Thelbar says. “Had I known we were keeping you . . .”
“Numerous affairs of greater import than the destruction of your home?” Elminster asks with a raised eyebrow.
“Yes,” Kyreel says.
“We have come for a favor, revered sage,” Thelbar says with a bow.
“They always do,” Elminster mutters to himself. “Come in, come in. You might as well frighten me where it is warm.”
The party is led to a cozy study, a bit cramped for all the books, whirligigs and half-finished meals it contains, but the group manages to find places to hunker down and relax.
“I need vision,” Thelbar says.
“I suppose I could help you,” Elminster says. “But it is a taxing spell for an old man like myself, and not a thing to be taken lightly. Who do you wish to vision?”
“I would never ask a wizard of your years to cast spells for me, great sage,” Thelbar says. “I wish to purchase a scroll of vision, that I might make my own divinations.”
“Ah, but I gave that business up a long time ago,” Elminster says, a twinkle in his eye. “Much easier on the writing elbow, you know. Give me a name, or I’m afraid I cannot help you at all.”
Thelbar, wishing to put an end to the sly cat-and-mouse exchange, says “Arunshee.”
Elminster pauses, suddenly solemn and suspicious. “Casting divinations on the gods is neither a healthy or sane past-time, Thelbar Tar-Ilou,” he says.
“Neither is toying with me when direct questions would suffice, revered sage,” Thelbar says.
“Arunshee is not herself,” Kyreel says.
“Yes, the wise ones say she is dead,” Elminster says. “But how such a thing might have come to be remains a mystery. I suspect you know much about this matter, if the Harpers’ accusations about you are true.”
“Gods-damned harpers,” Taran says.
“Lolth has died, and Arunshee is reborn,” Kyreel says.
“Lolth has entered the pasoun,” Thelbar says. “She has returned as Sharlequannan, and it was her birth that the portents marked. Our accusers are misguided, and their accusations are hollow. Of course we attend ‘Lolth’. Lolth is sister to our goddess after all, and has been reborn from a desire to walk the path of good. We intend to shepherd her and keep her from those drow who would have their Spider Queen back, or worse.”
Thelbar smiles at Elminster’s blank expression, then says, “Palatin Eremath is healing old rifts, and bringing her allies to her side. But we do not have the whole of it, and if we are to prevent the worst we must have the whole of it. Vision the name Scaladar, and share with us what you find, revered one.”
Elminster agrees, and disappears into the recesses of his tower. Taran rolls his eyes once Elminster leaves, and makes disparaging hand gestures, then mimics a harp-playing court buffoon. Kyreel scowls at him, and pinches his arm.
A few moments later, Elminster returns, his eyes narrow. “I feel as if I have been tricked, Thelbar Tar-Ilou, and I like it not.”
“Tricked, revered sage?” Thelbar says. “I assure you no such intent crossed my mind. Scaladar is the fallen right-hand to the goddess Palatin Eremath.”
“Indeed he is, Tar-Ilou, and my vision confirmed this fact. But he is better known by his other names: Orcus, demon prince slain by Kiransalee and reborn to the world as Tenebrous. He has returned from the dead as well, but not quite like your goddess. Your Scaladar is an undead god.”
-----
“I do not hold with the party line regarding you three,” Elminster says, after the group has finished their meal of exotic cheeses, hard-baked bread and spiced wine. “I have heard the accusations made in public, and I have heard the accusations made in private. Fortunately, my superiors would have me remain aloof, and do not expect me to become involved in these sorts of quarrels.
“As for myself,” he continues, “I cannot find any fault with a reclamation of the Far Forest, and the elimination of the fiends that inhabit it. Further, the rebirth of the Spider Queen can only be to all of our benefit. But this thing with the other good faiths of the land—can it not be repaired?”
“They started it!” Taran exclaims. “Tell them to rebuild my house, buy me new furniture, and replace my trophies. Then we’ll see who doesn’t get the hard side of the hand.”
“My brother speaks the truth,” Thelbar says. “For my part, I think you are more astute than to ask the ones who neither instigated nor participated in a quarrel if it can be mended. I think you mean to find out how we will respond.”
“I do,” Elminster admits.
“We have greater concerns than these priests and their frothy allegations. When we have ensured the safety of our people, and all those who are under the pasoun, then we shall see. I am not the cleric that my companion is, but I am cleric enough to know that the affairs of the gods must be left to the gods. We will remain faithful to our goddess’ teachings. In absence of her clear intent, we will approach this quarrel simply, as would any thing in nature.”
“I hear the threat implied in your words, Tar-Ilou,” Elminster says. “Can I not implore you to be at peace?”
“Our hearts are not closed to nonviolent resolution,” Thelbar says. “But we would require a show of good intent that rivals their show of hostility in order to be fully convinced that such a peace is possible. Do you think that is likely to happen?” After several moments pass where Elminster makes no reply, Thelbar continues, “Neither do I, revered sage.”
Taran leans forward and says, “Hey, if you kick the manticore, you’re going to get the tail.”
-----
The party leaves from Elminster’s home, and heads for Daggerdale. Along the way, Taran scuffs at the ground and curses from time to time, bemoaning the loss of his home, and its prized furnishings.
“I’d just gotten the downstairs study together,” he whines. “the Turmish rug was perfect with the stained-wood cabinet. And now that Sembia is at war, how am I supposed to replace them?”
Last edited:
incognito
First Post
This should read "(contact) rolls his eyes once Elminster leaves, and makes disparaging hand gestures, then mimics a harp-playing court buffoon." as I can SO clearly see our much loved DM/Player doing just this - not neccesarily in character!
Is it just me or has Taran developed a personality in these past few months, instead of just being the whirling fiend of death?
I, too, blame society
While I don't want to see him (Taran) become Indy, I do certianly appreciate the fact that there is the potential for Thel-Taran discussion now.
On the other hand, Paladin-hating is a fun and healthy pastime
Join in!Yeah, Kyreel, the checks in the mail, ok? Sucker.
Getting back to our good-buddy though - it think from chapter 54 we were thnking Taran might be an:
e·go·ist (n.)
1. One who uses cheaty Psionics-Handbook powers (like expansion) to boost thier fighting abilities; powers are derived from the STR attribute...
Which in Tarans case, is like a Bull's!
Just thought I'd let you know that I read this story hour every time it gets updated, it's among my very favourites! (Maybe even trampling Liberation of Tenh..)
I really enjoy the pasoun hack-around to the problem of main character death... It's brilliant! I'm always looking forward to the next update
-blargen
I really enjoy the pasoun hack-around to the problem of main character death... It's brilliant! I'm always looking forward to the next update
-blargen
(contact)
Explorer
56—Back to the grindstone.
When they arrive at the Crypts of Dodrian, the group composes themselves, and outlines their strategy—they will return to Szith Morcane, and use invisibility and find the path spells to fly both unerringly and unseen toward the drow city Maermydra. The patriarch Shamath Ilmyrn had described the journey between Szith Morcane and Maermydra as taking “. . . five sleeps for a drow, twice that for sun-gazers.” The party hopes to cut that time to two days using magical means.
They slip through Szith Morcane unseen, and fly for over an hour, through a winding maze of caverns and underground passages. Darkvision allows them to see the terrain as do the drow themselves, and they are all struck by the strange and alien beauty of the world beneath the surface.
Kyreel gestures for the group to halt at the entrance to a series of smooth oblong caverns, adjoined by thin, funnel-like tunnels. Thelbar, the only member of the group who can see invisible, notices Kyreel’s signal, then tugs on the short length of rope attaching him to Taran, and the group comes to a stop.
Kyreel traces her length of rope back to her companions and whispers, “I see a pair of ettins along with some sort of larger giant. They appear to be on guard. My spell indicates that we must travel directly past them to continue. Do we attempt to sneak past?”
“We shall try,” Thelbar says, “but in all likelihood, we will be spotted. Be ready.”
Thelbar’s prediction is right on the gold piece, and no sooner are the adventurers within the range of the ettin’s darkvision, than the giants spot them, despite the group’s invisiblity. The larger figure is seen to be a fire giant, but differs from the followers of King Kovas in that he shows signs of a fiendish ancestry. All three giants are wearing a familiar moon and skull heraldic device, one that squares with the description Gorquen gave of Tar-Elentyr’s fiendish followers.
Thelbar strikes the beasts with a chain lightning burst, and the ettins cry out in pain, but the arc of electricity does not seem to harm the larger giant in the slightest. Kyreel’s opening spell volley is disrupted, as she foolishly waited until the giants were within their prodigious arms’ reach to begin casting her spell, and she is struck to the ground. Taran leaps upon one of the two headed beasts, weathering an attack of opportunity as he does so, but kills the ettin straightaway. Thelbar points his finger and attempts to disintegrate the fire giant, but again his spell fails to take effect!
“This is rich,” the fire giant laughs. “My friends, to me! We are attacked by halflings—what sport!” And to the adventurers he says, “Wait until Kurgoth gets a hold of you. You’ll wish you’d fallen on your own swords in your haste to raise a hand against us.”
Well, at least he got the haste part right.
Another three demonic fire giants emerge from an adjoining passageway, each of them grinning ear to ear with a murderous gleam in their eyes. Thelbar points at them, and this time Thelbar’s spells do not fail him. He centers a confusion spell among them, and while the largest of the trio simply wanders away, the other two fall to fighting amongst themselves.
“Sweet,” Taran says. “I love it when they do that.”
But his mirth is short lived, for the remaining giant proves more than sufficient to threaten the group. The giant strikes Kyreel twice more with a huge two-handed sword, and forces the dark elven cleric to retreat from the fight, a heal spell on her lips.
From a circular opening in the ceiling, a pair of disgusting vulture-headed humanoid demons emerge, and swivel their filth-encrusted beaks as they take in the battle.
Meanwhile, Taran lays into the remaining fire giant, and is supported by magic missiles from Thelbar, and a moment later, by Kyreel. Under their combined effort, the giant falls, and Taran is able to fly toward the demons, and ready himself for their attack.
“You taste familiar,” one of the demons croaks with a voice that grates like sand ground underfoot. “Haven’t we met before?”
“Maybe you smell that giant's insides on my sword,” Taran suggests. (Expletive altered for Grandmothers and kids.)
The demons repay Taran’s insult in kind with an ear-splitting screech—a sound so terrible that it conjures images of the very Abyss from which they are spawned. It is enough to turn a normal man’s insides to jelly, and make a pulp of his courage. But Taran is no normal man, and he is unfazed by the hideous shrieking. The bulky ranger mutters, “I’ve heard worse,” then tears into one of the demons, and before it can react, the thing is sundered into several separate parts.
Its companion responds by conjuring several mirror images of itself, but the tactic is a delaying one at best. With the giants gone, and its abyssal companion destroyed, the vrock’s last moments are brief.
The party follows after the confused giant who wandered away, and discovers that the cavern beyond opens on to a massive underground lake. The giant can be seen several yards off-shore, piloting a river-boat of giantnish proportion. Intrigued, the heroes fly after their confused opponent, and follow him. Several hundred yards into the waterway, they are horrified to see a quartet of monstrous tentacles rise out of the water and seize the giant, capsizing his raft, and pulling the bestial creature below the surface! A torrent of bloody bubbles rise to the surface, and then all is still.
“Gods below, what was that?” Taran wonders as the group beats a hasty retreat.
After returning to the caves now sticky and wet with several giants’ worth of blood, the adventurers examine the holes the two vrocks emerged from, and fly into one of the openings.
They find themselves inside a similar funnel-like cavern, cut by some unknowable force, and polished to a near perfect smoothness. The sounds of rumbling, deep bass voices emanates from the opposite opening. The party moves toward the voices as silently as possible, and emerge into a much larger cavern, they see a bizarre trio of giants. The most noteworthy is an extremely obese fire giant wearing jeweled regalia and clutching a skull-ringed mace. This fat giant stands next to a tall, healthy-looking fire giant that might well be the template from which all other fire giants were molded, he is so perfect of feature and body. Behind them, and standing quite deferentially is a third, unfortunately plain-looking fire giant.
“The dull guy is probably going to die first,” Taran whispers. “They always do. Who looks out for the grunts?”
The giants look up at Taran’s whispered question, and notice the characters.
“I thought I gave orders that we were not to be disturbed,” the obese giant booms in an imperious tone. “Where are my demons?”
“Sent back to the Abyss,” Kyreel says. “And you would do well to mark your tone, giant, lest you join them sooner than you would like!”
At this, the two larger giants exchange smiles, and the third follows suit quickly, once his superiors start laughing. “I fear nothing,” the perfect giant says, “let alone a little drow that does even not come up to my knee. Have you come to avenge your city little elf, or do you even know? Maermydra burns! Maermydra has fallen to Kurgoth Hellspawn!”
“Kurgath Hellspawn?” Taran asks. “That’s a stupid name. You work with demons, and demons don’t come from . . .”
“Do not speak his name, you have not the right!” The obese giant screams. “You should shake in your boots and piss yourselves at the thought that the great Kurgoth Hellspawn might turn his black gaze upon you! You should . . .”
Then Thelbar chain feebleminds him.
“Okay,” Taran says, “Let’s search the room and . . .”
But the feeblemind does not take effect. The fat giant is staring at Thelbar, the roiling folds of skin around his face and neck turning from a rusty brown to a deep purple, framing his wide eyes and frothing mouth. “You . . insignificant . . .” the massive giant mutters as he slowly moves toward the party, his rod clutched tight in his hand.
Then Thelbar speaks his power word stun.
“. . . arrogant . . . knee-high . . .” the giant says.
Thelbar flies to the back of the room, cursing the spell resistance of Abyssal creatures, and invoking a quickened invisibility.
Taran flies directly into the fat giant’s corpulent face, and cuts him across his fat-hooded eyes and bulbous cheeks with forehand and backhand slashes. The giant pulls his head away from the flying adventurer, and swings the skull-ringed mace up from his heels, catching Taran on both the upward stroke and then again on the downward.
Taran is knocked upside down and then smashed into the ground, where he lies dazed and tries to stand on wobbly legs. “Thel, help,” he croaks as he takes to the air and tries to focus his vision.
The perfect giant brushes Taran aside with one huge hand, then kicks Kyreel as he takes to the back of the room in two long strides. He unsheathes a massive two-handed sword and chops into Thelbar, emitting a surprised grunt when Thelbar’s stoneskin prevents the mage from being sliced into Small-Sized pieces.
Thelbar points his hand at the perfect giant, and invokes a beam of disintegration. Unfortunately, the beam has no effect. Thelbar curses to himself, unleashing a string of blasphemies involving the nether apertures of all giant-kind and a flaming holy greatclub.
Kyreel steps forward, and heals Taran, restoring his ribs to their rightful place on the outside of his internal organs, and repairing the spinal damage caused by his impact with the ground. Taran uses this opportunity to activate his shield and mirror image spells. “Cast more, talk less,” he reminds himself, as he takes to the air.
At this moment, Thelbar uses a limited wish to transform the stone floor into a pool of viscous, sucking mud.
Properly healed and protected, Taran watches balefully as the obese giant sinks up to his ponderous and sagging chest into the bubbling mud, and then laughs menacingly when Thelbar dispels the effect, trapping the three giants in a prison of solid stone.
“Say hello to those vrocks for me, you f--k.” Taran flies behind the giant where the enormous beast cannot even reach its arms to defend itself, and gleefully sets to the butcher’s work. Thick, meaty sounds accompany a series of booming giant screams and Taran’s laborious grunting.
Thelbar disintegrates the smaller giant, who cannot resist his spells, then turns to the remaining enemy. “You are the most perfect giant I have ever seen, and I would mourn for the world if I had to take you from it. I offer you this choice: you can either live to father children or die a warrior’s death right now, as you will have it.”
“Must I serve?”
“I would ask you to do nothing that displeases you.”
“Then I choose to live.”
“I cannot free you until I have rested and regained spells. We will sleep here in this room. If we are harmed during the night, you will starve to death wrapped in stone, as only I can release you. Watch over our rest, and in the morning, you will be set free.”
“I agree to your terms, little one.”
“And what of your friends, here? What was one such as you doing with such a wretched giant?”
“We are a rear outpost guarding the passage into the city of Maermydra for Kurgoth Hellspawn. The giant you call ‘wretched’ is a great servitor of Tenebrous, and is much loved by both the demon-god and our Lord General.”
“Whoops,” Taran says as he emerges from behind the slumped form of the giant cleric. The burly ranger is soaked through from head to toe with giant gore, and steam rises off both his drenched armor and the pool of blood that laps at the tops of his boots. “I think Tenebrous is going to be really pissed then, because I just killed that fat f--ker.”
“And Irae T’ssarion?” Thelbar asks, glad that the living giant cannot turn to see what has befallen his leader.
“She cowers within her castle, but our armies siege her there, and she will fall soon enough. There is no force that can stand against Kurgoth Hellspawn, for . . .”
“I really wish you’d quit saying that,” Taran says. “Kurgath’s not from Hell, Hell has devils. Demons hate devils, and you have demons. That’s like marching to the beat of a dead horse.”
“You’re mixing your metaphors, brother,” Thelbar says.
“Yeah, I know, Thel, but that’s the point. Calling a demon-lover ‘Hellspawn’ is like mixing metaphors.”
“Ah, I see. A metaphor analogy. Congratulations.”
“I think they are using the term ‘Hell’ generically, to mean ‘an evil plane’,” Kyreel says.
“But ‘Hell’ isn’t a generic term, it’s a specific place,” Taran says.
“. . . our armies are invincible! Kurgoth Hellspawn can not fail!” the giant finishes with a flourish of martial pride.
“Okay, that’s it,” Taran says. “You know what, I’m going to kill Kurgath so I don’t have to hear his damn name.”
When they arrive at the Crypts of Dodrian, the group composes themselves, and outlines their strategy—they will return to Szith Morcane, and use invisibility and find the path spells to fly both unerringly and unseen toward the drow city Maermydra. The patriarch Shamath Ilmyrn had described the journey between Szith Morcane and Maermydra as taking “. . . five sleeps for a drow, twice that for sun-gazers.” The party hopes to cut that time to two days using magical means.
They slip through Szith Morcane unseen, and fly for over an hour, through a winding maze of caverns and underground passages. Darkvision allows them to see the terrain as do the drow themselves, and they are all struck by the strange and alien beauty of the world beneath the surface.
Kyreel gestures for the group to halt at the entrance to a series of smooth oblong caverns, adjoined by thin, funnel-like tunnels. Thelbar, the only member of the group who can see invisible, notices Kyreel’s signal, then tugs on the short length of rope attaching him to Taran, and the group comes to a stop.
Kyreel traces her length of rope back to her companions and whispers, “I see a pair of ettins along with some sort of larger giant. They appear to be on guard. My spell indicates that we must travel directly past them to continue. Do we attempt to sneak past?”
“We shall try,” Thelbar says, “but in all likelihood, we will be spotted. Be ready.”
Thelbar’s prediction is right on the gold piece, and no sooner are the adventurers within the range of the ettin’s darkvision, than the giants spot them, despite the group’s invisiblity. The larger figure is seen to be a fire giant, but differs from the followers of King Kovas in that he shows signs of a fiendish ancestry. All three giants are wearing a familiar moon and skull heraldic device, one that squares with the description Gorquen gave of Tar-Elentyr’s fiendish followers.
Thelbar strikes the beasts with a chain lightning burst, and the ettins cry out in pain, but the arc of electricity does not seem to harm the larger giant in the slightest. Kyreel’s opening spell volley is disrupted, as she foolishly waited until the giants were within their prodigious arms’ reach to begin casting her spell, and she is struck to the ground. Taran leaps upon one of the two headed beasts, weathering an attack of opportunity as he does so, but kills the ettin straightaway. Thelbar points his finger and attempts to disintegrate the fire giant, but again his spell fails to take effect!
“This is rich,” the fire giant laughs. “My friends, to me! We are attacked by halflings—what sport!” And to the adventurers he says, “Wait until Kurgoth gets a hold of you. You’ll wish you’d fallen on your own swords in your haste to raise a hand against us.”
Well, at least he got the haste part right.
Another three demonic fire giants emerge from an adjoining passageway, each of them grinning ear to ear with a murderous gleam in their eyes. Thelbar points at them, and this time Thelbar’s spells do not fail him. He centers a confusion spell among them, and while the largest of the trio simply wanders away, the other two fall to fighting amongst themselves.
“Sweet,” Taran says. “I love it when they do that.”
But his mirth is short lived, for the remaining giant proves more than sufficient to threaten the group. The giant strikes Kyreel twice more with a huge two-handed sword, and forces the dark elven cleric to retreat from the fight, a heal spell on her lips.
From a circular opening in the ceiling, a pair of disgusting vulture-headed humanoid demons emerge, and swivel their filth-encrusted beaks as they take in the battle.
Meanwhile, Taran lays into the remaining fire giant, and is supported by magic missiles from Thelbar, and a moment later, by Kyreel. Under their combined effort, the giant falls, and Taran is able to fly toward the demons, and ready himself for their attack.
“You taste familiar,” one of the demons croaks with a voice that grates like sand ground underfoot. “Haven’t we met before?”
“Maybe you smell that giant's insides on my sword,” Taran suggests. (Expletive altered for Grandmothers and kids.)
The demons repay Taran’s insult in kind with an ear-splitting screech—a sound so terrible that it conjures images of the very Abyss from which they are spawned. It is enough to turn a normal man’s insides to jelly, and make a pulp of his courage. But Taran is no normal man, and he is unfazed by the hideous shrieking. The bulky ranger mutters, “I’ve heard worse,” then tears into one of the demons, and before it can react, the thing is sundered into several separate parts.
Its companion responds by conjuring several mirror images of itself, but the tactic is a delaying one at best. With the giants gone, and its abyssal companion destroyed, the vrock’s last moments are brief.
The party follows after the confused giant who wandered away, and discovers that the cavern beyond opens on to a massive underground lake. The giant can be seen several yards off-shore, piloting a river-boat of giantnish proportion. Intrigued, the heroes fly after their confused opponent, and follow him. Several hundred yards into the waterway, they are horrified to see a quartet of monstrous tentacles rise out of the water and seize the giant, capsizing his raft, and pulling the bestial creature below the surface! A torrent of bloody bubbles rise to the surface, and then all is still.
“Gods below, what was that?” Taran wonders as the group beats a hasty retreat.
After returning to the caves now sticky and wet with several giants’ worth of blood, the adventurers examine the holes the two vrocks emerged from, and fly into one of the openings.
They find themselves inside a similar funnel-like cavern, cut by some unknowable force, and polished to a near perfect smoothness. The sounds of rumbling, deep bass voices emanates from the opposite opening. The party moves toward the voices as silently as possible, and emerge into a much larger cavern, they see a bizarre trio of giants. The most noteworthy is an extremely obese fire giant wearing jeweled regalia and clutching a skull-ringed mace. This fat giant stands next to a tall, healthy-looking fire giant that might well be the template from which all other fire giants were molded, he is so perfect of feature and body. Behind them, and standing quite deferentially is a third, unfortunately plain-looking fire giant.
“The dull guy is probably going to die first,” Taran whispers. “They always do. Who looks out for the grunts?”
The giants look up at Taran’s whispered question, and notice the characters.
“I thought I gave orders that we were not to be disturbed,” the obese giant booms in an imperious tone. “Where are my demons?”
“Sent back to the Abyss,” Kyreel says. “And you would do well to mark your tone, giant, lest you join them sooner than you would like!”
At this, the two larger giants exchange smiles, and the third follows suit quickly, once his superiors start laughing. “I fear nothing,” the perfect giant says, “let alone a little drow that does even not come up to my knee. Have you come to avenge your city little elf, or do you even know? Maermydra burns! Maermydra has fallen to Kurgoth Hellspawn!”
“Kurgath Hellspawn?” Taran asks. “That’s a stupid name. You work with demons, and demons don’t come from . . .”
“Do not speak his name, you have not the right!” The obese giant screams. “You should shake in your boots and piss yourselves at the thought that the great Kurgoth Hellspawn might turn his black gaze upon you! You should . . .”
Then Thelbar chain feebleminds him.
“Okay,” Taran says, “Let’s search the room and . . .”
But the feeblemind does not take effect. The fat giant is staring at Thelbar, the roiling folds of skin around his face and neck turning from a rusty brown to a deep purple, framing his wide eyes and frothing mouth. “You . . insignificant . . .” the massive giant mutters as he slowly moves toward the party, his rod clutched tight in his hand.
Then Thelbar speaks his power word stun.
“. . . arrogant . . . knee-high . . .” the giant says.
Thelbar flies to the back of the room, cursing the spell resistance of Abyssal creatures, and invoking a quickened invisibility.
Taran flies directly into the fat giant’s corpulent face, and cuts him across his fat-hooded eyes and bulbous cheeks with forehand and backhand slashes. The giant pulls his head away from the flying adventurer, and swings the skull-ringed mace up from his heels, catching Taran on both the upward stroke and then again on the downward.
Taran is knocked upside down and then smashed into the ground, where he lies dazed and tries to stand on wobbly legs. “Thel, help,” he croaks as he takes to the air and tries to focus his vision.
The perfect giant brushes Taran aside with one huge hand, then kicks Kyreel as he takes to the back of the room in two long strides. He unsheathes a massive two-handed sword and chops into Thelbar, emitting a surprised grunt when Thelbar’s stoneskin prevents the mage from being sliced into Small-Sized pieces.
Thelbar points his hand at the perfect giant, and invokes a beam of disintegration. Unfortunately, the beam has no effect. Thelbar curses to himself, unleashing a string of blasphemies involving the nether apertures of all giant-kind and a flaming holy greatclub.
Kyreel steps forward, and heals Taran, restoring his ribs to their rightful place on the outside of his internal organs, and repairing the spinal damage caused by his impact with the ground. Taran uses this opportunity to activate his shield and mirror image spells. “Cast more, talk less,” he reminds himself, as he takes to the air.
At this moment, Thelbar uses a limited wish to transform the stone floor into a pool of viscous, sucking mud.
Properly healed and protected, Taran watches balefully as the obese giant sinks up to his ponderous and sagging chest into the bubbling mud, and then laughs menacingly when Thelbar dispels the effect, trapping the three giants in a prison of solid stone.
“Say hello to those vrocks for me, you f--k.” Taran flies behind the giant where the enormous beast cannot even reach its arms to defend itself, and gleefully sets to the butcher’s work. Thick, meaty sounds accompany a series of booming giant screams and Taran’s laborious grunting.
Thelbar disintegrates the smaller giant, who cannot resist his spells, then turns to the remaining enemy. “You are the most perfect giant I have ever seen, and I would mourn for the world if I had to take you from it. I offer you this choice: you can either live to father children or die a warrior’s death right now, as you will have it.”
“Must I serve?”
“I would ask you to do nothing that displeases you.”
“Then I choose to live.”
“I cannot free you until I have rested and regained spells. We will sleep here in this room. If we are harmed during the night, you will starve to death wrapped in stone, as only I can release you. Watch over our rest, and in the morning, you will be set free.”
“I agree to your terms, little one.”
“And what of your friends, here? What was one such as you doing with such a wretched giant?”
“We are a rear outpost guarding the passage into the city of Maermydra for Kurgoth Hellspawn. The giant you call ‘wretched’ is a great servitor of Tenebrous, and is much loved by both the demon-god and our Lord General.”
“Whoops,” Taran says as he emerges from behind the slumped form of the giant cleric. The burly ranger is soaked through from head to toe with giant gore, and steam rises off both his drenched armor and the pool of blood that laps at the tops of his boots. “I think Tenebrous is going to be really pissed then, because I just killed that fat f--ker.”
“And Irae T’ssarion?” Thelbar asks, glad that the living giant cannot turn to see what has befallen his leader.
“She cowers within her castle, but our armies siege her there, and she will fall soon enough. There is no force that can stand against Kurgoth Hellspawn, for . . .”
“I really wish you’d quit saying that,” Taran says. “Kurgath’s not from Hell, Hell has devils. Demons hate devils, and you have demons. That’s like marching to the beat of a dead horse.”
“You’re mixing your metaphors, brother,” Thelbar says.
“Yeah, I know, Thel, but that’s the point. Calling a demon-lover ‘Hellspawn’ is like mixing metaphors.”
“Ah, I see. A metaphor analogy. Congratulations.”
“I think they are using the term ‘Hell’ generically, to mean ‘an evil plane’,” Kyreel says.
“But ‘Hell’ isn’t a generic term, it’s a specific place,” Taran says.
“. . . our armies are invincible! Kurgoth Hellspawn can not fail!” the giant finishes with a flourish of martial pride.
“Okay, that’s it,” Taran says. “You know what, I’m going to kill Kurgath so I don’t have to hear his damn name.”
Barastrondo
First Post
Jeeeez...
This update is full of two kinds of "holy crap!" moments:
"Holy crap! Look at all the stuff getting thrown at the heroes! They're dead meat!"
...and...
"Holy crap! The heroes are winning!"
It also emphasizes the badassitude of our heroes when there's only three of them kicking so much fiendish Huge-size butt. I'm starting to think Taran isn't an egotist, he's just remarkably self-aware.
And yet, for all that, the carnage isn't my favorite part of this update — it's Thelbar's insistence that the Platonic ideal of fire giants should survive, to the betterment of the race as a whole. That's just so very cool, in such a detached, wizardly way of looking at the world. It's the little bits like that — the ones that make you wonder if anyone else has ever done something like this in a game, ever — that deserve to be lauded.
This update is full of two kinds of "holy crap!" moments:
"Holy crap! Look at all the stuff getting thrown at the heroes! They're dead meat!"
...and...
"Holy crap! The heroes are winning!"
It also emphasizes the badassitude of our heroes when there's only three of them kicking so much fiendish Huge-size butt. I'm starting to think Taran isn't an egotist, he's just remarkably self-aware.
And yet, for all that, the carnage isn't my favorite part of this update — it's Thelbar's insistence that the Platonic ideal of fire giants should survive, to the betterment of the race as a whole. That's just so very cool, in such a detached, wizardly way of looking at the world. It's the little bits like that — the ones that make you wonder if anyone else has ever done something like this in a game, ever — that deserve to be lauded.
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