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The Risen Goddess (Updated 3.10.08)
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<blockquote data-quote="(contact)" data-source="post: 531214" data-attributes="member: 41"><p><strong>50, Continued</strong></p><p></p><p>In five days time, the <em>portable hole</em> is completed, and the party is ready to begin in earnest their campaign against the drow. As expected, Taran finds no new evidence of activity outside of the crypts, but the inside is guarded by several fell monsters, including abyssal spiders and a crying drow woman.</p><p></p><p>Crying drow woman?</p><p></p><p>The party discovers her sobbing to herself in a roughly-hewn cavern, and holding a small bundle. Confused, Kyreel approaches her. “Be still, milady. What is your problem?”</p><p></p><p>“The problem?” She says, pulling a wand from the bundle. “<em>You just walked into a trap</em>!”</p><p></p><p>“If I only had a silver piece for every drow who has told me that,” Taran mutters to himself as he whips his swords from their scabbards. The drow woman whirls to face on Kyreel with a fiendish grin, and raises her wand, but Kyreel is too quick for her. She Smites the drow with her holy sword, and drives the woman back before her spell can take effect.</p><p></p><p>Two drow fighters come rushing out from a hidden alcove, forming a bodyguard for a cackling male wizard. Taran leaps at the crude phalanx, and there are a few confusing moments during which the area becomes a whirl of blades, <em>hasted</em> footwork and cries of pain. But they are all drowish cries, and Taran emerges from the melee unharmed. In the meantime, Thelbar has managed to <em>charm</em> the male wizard, and calls for a succession of hostilities.</p><p></p><p>The suddenly helpful wizard introduces himself as an exiled spellguard of house Morcane—the ruling house of Szith Morcane, prior to the recent coup. He confirms that Irae T’ssarion and her White Death have taken the city, and are preparing it as a launching point for an assault on the surface.</p><p></p><p>The city, he says, is reached via a nearby sinkhole. The sinkhole represents the White Death’s most remote guard-post, and gives way to a series of tunnels that lead to the city proper. Szith Morcane is built into the side of a massive chasm, with a myriad of cave openings all linked together by the web of a gargantuan spider. But intruders must beware, he warns the group, only certain of the spider’s strands may be stepped upon. Outsiders run the risk of stepping in the wrong place and becoming a meal for the legendary beast. </p><p></p><p>The party gets a good description of the city from the man, and discusses bypassing it altogether, but determines that whatever leadership and commanders make Szith Morcane their home, they must die. Taran points out how debilitating the loss of forward command elements can be to an army preparing for a huge assault. Wiping out the White Death in Szith Morcane could set Irae T’ssarion’s war plans back by months, and buy the heroes more time to get to her.</p><p></p><p>The captured drow wizard suggests to the Champions that they should let him lead the way to Szith Morcane’s wizard order. He tells them that the head of his order is a mage by the name of Solom Ned’razak, and is no friend to the followers of Kiransalee. Certainly Solom would be interested in an alliance with such powerful and worthy individuals as yourselves, he coos.</p><p></p><p>“Wow,” Taran says in Isenthanian. “What a bootlicker. What did you do to this guy?”</p><p></p><p>“Never you mind, Taran. The issue at hand is, do we trust them?”</p><p></p><p>“We can trust them to betray us at thier first convenience,” Kyreel says. “I myself will not enter into any committed alliances with wicked beings such as these drow. We do what we do here we do for our own purposes, remember? I will not be indebted to evil.”</p><p></p><p>“I agree,” Taran says. “Let’s just go in there under the pretense of alliance, then do the whole village.”</p><p></p><p>“That is a base deception,” Kyreel complains. </p><p></p><p>“We will tell no untruths, nor lead them along with any false promises,” Thelbar says. “We will state flatly that we desire nothing less than the dispersal of the city’s population and the collapse of all tunnels leading to the surface. Likely he will spit in our face, which is where your fine plan comes in, brother.” </p><p></p><p>Turning to his charmed minion, Thelbar returns to speaking Undercommon, “Lead us to Solom Ned’razak. We would speak with him, and make him an offer.”</p><p></p><p>The party fights one group of sentries, and sneaks past another before they come to the massive chasm that is Szith Morcane. No description could have prepared them for the reality of it—a massive lightless cavern that is more <em>felt</em> than <em>seen</em>, its vast presence large enough to sustain its own air currents and change the complexion all sounds heard within its expanse. As promised, a bewildering labyrinth of web-strands connect the uncountable cave openings, and disappear into the darkness in nearly every direction.</p><p></p><p>The <em>charmed</em> mage leads the group unerringly to an opening, heavily carved and worked with runes. Once inside, the Champions are hustled quickly past surprised drow apprentices and through several secret doors and stairs. “Stand aside!” Their guide says to no one in particular, “we have important business with Solom Ned’razak!”</p><p></p><p>“I suspect you’re going to get quite a reward for this,” Thelbar says.</p><p></p><p>“I suspect you are right surface-worlder,” the drow replies. “I suspect you are right.”</p><p></p><p>-----</p><p></p><p>Solom Ned’razak stares balefully at the <em>charmed</em> mage. Tall and thin, Solom is bundled in magical robes and garments, and several separate arcane effects cause his very person to glow with a dull, multi-hued throbbing light. Directly behind him, a small drow woman leans on a spear, and is examining the group with a critical eye.</p><p></p><p>“You brought these . . . outworlders here, Shamath Ahl’Nathak?”</p><p></p><p>“Yes, my lord,” the mage crows. “It was I who . . .” </p><p></p><p>Solom Ned’razak points one long, spindly finger at his underling, and a moment later, the <em>charmed</em> drow is simply gone as if he never was, in his place a thin wisp of powdery dust.</p><p></p><p>Solom Ned’razak regards the group. “You have come to dispose Irae T’ssarion of her ridiculous war fantasies, I assume.”</p><p></p><p>“If you mean kill her to ensure the safety of our surface communities, you are correct,” Thelbar says. “And we have a few requirements that you could help us with.”</p><p></p><p>“I am not accustomed to granting favors.” Solom drawls. “My answer is no.”</p><p></p><p>Thelbar does not indicate that he has heard the drow’s refusal. “You will personally organize the evacuation and abandonment of this city, and then collapse all tunnels leading to the surface world. I am prepared to be flexible with regards to the timeline.”</p><p></p><p>Taran stares at Solom Ned’razak, one hand casually resting on Black Lisa’s hilt, a smug smirk on his face. “C’mon, skinny. <em>Say no again</em>.”</p><p></p><p>Solom makes no verbal reply, but does not need to, as his mastery of the subtle drow sign language is unparalleled. Before any of the Champions realize that he has even given the order, he <em>hastes</em> himself, and rips a <em>chain lightning</em> through the group, knocking Taran backwards and provoking a cry of pain from Thelbar. His bodyguard leaps at Kyreel, and before Taran can pull the two drow apart, the bodyguard has opened several terrible gashes across Kyreel’s belly, and the cleric of Palatin Eremath teeters on the verge of death.</p><p></p><p>His robes still smoking from the electrical pulse, Thelbar grabs his companions and <em>teleports</em> the Champions of the Risen Goddess back to the sinkhole in the crypt of Dodrian, where they collapse to the ground, shaken and demoralized.</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="(contact), post: 531214, member: 41"] [b]50, Continued[/b] In five days time, the [I]portable hole[/I] is completed, and the party is ready to begin in earnest their campaign against the drow. As expected, Taran finds no new evidence of activity outside of the crypts, but the inside is guarded by several fell monsters, including abyssal spiders and a crying drow woman. Crying drow woman? The party discovers her sobbing to herself in a roughly-hewn cavern, and holding a small bundle. Confused, Kyreel approaches her. “Be still, milady. What is your problem?” “The problem?” She says, pulling a wand from the bundle. “[I]You just walked into a trap[/I]!” “If I only had a silver piece for every drow who has told me that,” Taran mutters to himself as he whips his swords from their scabbards. The drow woman whirls to face on Kyreel with a fiendish grin, and raises her wand, but Kyreel is too quick for her. She Smites the drow with her holy sword, and drives the woman back before her spell can take effect. Two drow fighters come rushing out from a hidden alcove, forming a bodyguard for a cackling male wizard. Taran leaps at the crude phalanx, and there are a few confusing moments during which the area becomes a whirl of blades, [I]hasted[/I] footwork and cries of pain. But they are all drowish cries, and Taran emerges from the melee unharmed. In the meantime, Thelbar has managed to [I]charm[/I] the male wizard, and calls for a succession of hostilities. The suddenly helpful wizard introduces himself as an exiled spellguard of house Morcane—the ruling house of Szith Morcane, prior to the recent coup. He confirms that Irae T’ssarion and her White Death have taken the city, and are preparing it as a launching point for an assault on the surface. The city, he says, is reached via a nearby sinkhole. The sinkhole represents the White Death’s most remote guard-post, and gives way to a series of tunnels that lead to the city proper. Szith Morcane is built into the side of a massive chasm, with a myriad of cave openings all linked together by the web of a gargantuan spider. But intruders must beware, he warns the group, only certain of the spider’s strands may be stepped upon. Outsiders run the risk of stepping in the wrong place and becoming a meal for the legendary beast. The party gets a good description of the city from the man, and discusses bypassing it altogether, but determines that whatever leadership and commanders make Szith Morcane their home, they must die. Taran points out how debilitating the loss of forward command elements can be to an army preparing for a huge assault. Wiping out the White Death in Szith Morcane could set Irae T’ssarion’s war plans back by months, and buy the heroes more time to get to her. The captured drow wizard suggests to the Champions that they should let him lead the way to Szith Morcane’s wizard order. He tells them that the head of his order is a mage by the name of Solom Ned’razak, and is no friend to the followers of Kiransalee. Certainly Solom would be interested in an alliance with such powerful and worthy individuals as yourselves, he coos. “Wow,” Taran says in Isenthanian. “What a bootlicker. What did you do to this guy?” “Never you mind, Taran. The issue at hand is, do we trust them?” “We can trust them to betray us at thier first convenience,” Kyreel says. “I myself will not enter into any committed alliances with wicked beings such as these drow. We do what we do here we do for our own purposes, remember? I will not be indebted to evil.” “I agree,” Taran says. “Let’s just go in there under the pretense of alliance, then do the whole village.” “That is a base deception,” Kyreel complains. “We will tell no untruths, nor lead them along with any false promises,” Thelbar says. “We will state flatly that we desire nothing less than the dispersal of the city’s population and the collapse of all tunnels leading to the surface. Likely he will spit in our face, which is where your fine plan comes in, brother.” Turning to his charmed minion, Thelbar returns to speaking Undercommon, “Lead us to Solom Ned’razak. We would speak with him, and make him an offer.” The party fights one group of sentries, and sneaks past another before they come to the massive chasm that is Szith Morcane. No description could have prepared them for the reality of it—a massive lightless cavern that is more [I]felt[/I] than [I]seen[/I], its vast presence large enough to sustain its own air currents and change the complexion all sounds heard within its expanse. As promised, a bewildering labyrinth of web-strands connect the uncountable cave openings, and disappear into the darkness in nearly every direction. The [I]charmed[/I] mage leads the group unerringly to an opening, heavily carved and worked with runes. Once inside, the Champions are hustled quickly past surprised drow apprentices and through several secret doors and stairs. “Stand aside!” Their guide says to no one in particular, “we have important business with Solom Ned’razak!” “I suspect you’re going to get quite a reward for this,” Thelbar says. “I suspect you are right surface-worlder,” the drow replies. “I suspect you are right.” ----- Solom Ned’razak stares balefully at the [I]charmed[/I] mage. Tall and thin, Solom is bundled in magical robes and garments, and several separate arcane effects cause his very person to glow with a dull, multi-hued throbbing light. Directly behind him, a small drow woman leans on a spear, and is examining the group with a critical eye. “You brought these . . . outworlders here, Shamath Ahl’Nathak?” “Yes, my lord,” the mage crows. “It was I who . . .” Solom Ned’razak points one long, spindly finger at his underling, and a moment later, the [I]charmed[/I] drow is simply gone as if he never was, in his place a thin wisp of powdery dust. Solom Ned’razak regards the group. “You have come to dispose Irae T’ssarion of her ridiculous war fantasies, I assume.” “If you mean kill her to ensure the safety of our surface communities, you are correct,” Thelbar says. “And we have a few requirements that you could help us with.” “I am not accustomed to granting favors.” Solom drawls. “My answer is no.” Thelbar does not indicate that he has heard the drow’s refusal. “You will personally organize the evacuation and abandonment of this city, and then collapse all tunnels leading to the surface world. I am prepared to be flexible with regards to the timeline.” Taran stares at Solom Ned’razak, one hand casually resting on Black Lisa’s hilt, a smug smirk on his face. “C’mon, skinny. [I]Say no again[/I].” Solom makes no verbal reply, but does not need to, as his mastery of the subtle drow sign language is unparalleled. Before any of the Champions realize that he has even given the order, he [I]hastes[/I] himself, and rips a [I]chain lightning[/I] through the group, knocking Taran backwards and provoking a cry of pain from Thelbar. His bodyguard leaps at Kyreel, and before Taran can pull the two drow apart, the bodyguard has opened several terrible gashes across Kyreel’s belly, and the cleric of Palatin Eremath teeters on the verge of death. His robes still smoking from the electrical pulse, Thelbar grabs his companions and [I]teleports[/I] the Champions of the Risen Goddess back to the sinkhole in the crypt of Dodrian, where they collapse to the ground, shaken and demoralized. [/QUOTE]
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