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The Scourge of the Ratmen [Scarred Lands] - Updated 1/26
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<blockquote data-quote="Amaroq" data-source="post: 1869995" data-attributes="member: 15470"><p><strong>Issue #17: Interludes and Intermissions - Episode 1 of 13</strong></p><p></p><p style="text-align: right"><span style="font-size: 9px">12th of April, 2003</span></p> <p style="text-align: center"><span style="font-size: 15px">Issue #17</span></p> <p style="text-align: center"></p> <p style="text-align: center"><span style="font-size: 18px"><strong>Interludes and Initiations</strong></span></p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p><em>Just after sunset, a blind old ratman approached Kratys Freehold. He exuded an aura which prevented most of the guards from drawing their bows to fire at him, and when Taryn Kratys shot at him, he knocked the arrow from the air. Beneath his cloak, his fur was mottled black and white. He warned us that followers of Gormoth were enacting evil rituals at the standing stones, covered his head with his hood, and strode quickly off into the gloom of twilight.</em></p><p><em></em></p><p><em>Chuck fired one last arrow at him, and the ratman casually batted the arrow out of mid-air. “No way!” Stone yelled, with feeling. The half-orc monk leapt off the parapet, breaking his fall by tumbling with the landing. “I’ll take care of the blind one,” he yelled up to the rest of us. “You guys take care of the ritual!” And with that, he chased the blind rat man, while the rest of us traveled to the standing stones.</em></p><p><em></em></p><p><em>There, we discovered a group of strange, misshapen ratmen, followers of Gormoth, and a shrine to that Titan. The ratmen had captured a Hope, one of Madriel’s angels, and were torturing it to try to bring Gormoth back. Using Madriel’s Tear, we were able to kill the shaman, stop the ritual, and destroy the shrine, but the powers unleashed have caused a great earthquake, and Paks and Telryn have not made it out.</em></p><p></p><p>It is the night of Belsaday, the seventh day of Madrer. </p><p></p><p>Stone chases the blind rat man, but he is slowly losing ground. The gathering darkness makes it difficult to see his quarry. Though the half-orc has always been fastest in races and running, this blind old ratman is outdistancing him. He yells, “Hey! Stop!” but there is no effect. Finally, he stumbles over something, and when he tumbles and rolls to his feet, the ratman is nowhere to be seen.</p><p></p><p>However, the path he has taken is clear. He finds that it isn’t very difficult to follow the ancient ratman. In fact, it almost seems as if the signs he is following were being left for him intentionally. He continues to run, a loping gait which his half-orcish muscles can maintain for hours.</p><p></p><p>After more than an hour’s run, the trail leads to a clearing.</p><p></p><p>In the center of the clearing stands the rat man, hooded and leaning on his staff. He is bathed in the baleful reddish light of the Nameless Orb, the second moon. The monks of Hedrada have taught the half-orc to ignore the moon, but Goldpetal’s dire warning that it is a bad omen echoes in his mind.</p><p></p><p>Stone steps into the clearing, and bows to the ratman. “Venerable master,” he calls. “I request teaching.”</p><p></p><p>The ratman speaks in a low voice, with a hissing, whistling accent. It sounds as though it is a labor for him to speak in the human tongue. “Why seek you to follow me?”</p><p></p><p>Stone stands before the ratman. “I believe we are following the same path,” he answers, resolutely.</p><p></p><p>The ratman crooks one finger before him. “You think you are initiated in The Way,” he says, then shakes his head and wags the crooked finger side to side. “But yours is not The Way.”</p><p></p><p>“Then we must settle this now,” the monk retorts.</p><p></p><p>“Happy will I be to teach you The True Way,” the ratman tells him.</p><p></p><p>Stone takes off his shirt and stretches a bit. The ratman pulls back his hood, and takes off his cloak. His fur is mottled black and white, and he has no eyes at all. His eye sockets are empty. He starts whirling his staff in a tight, precise form. </p><p></p><p>Stone looks around for a staff of his own, but there do not seem to be any branches of useful size.</p><p></p><p>The ratman begins to intone, as though speaking a ritual, or a prophecy. “Golthain’s Way is the True Way. Only He showed The Way. For this He suffered. For this He is gone. Other ways are false, mockeries of Golthain.” </p><p></p><p>Stone stands up, and responds firmly. “Hedrada shows the rightful path. His Ways supplant the ancient Ways.” </p><p></p><p>The ratman answers loudly, but without rancor. “The way of Hedrada is not The Way. His laws, the laws of a betrayer are. His judgments, from a kin-slayer, from a patricide. This will I prove to you!” He casts his staff aside, to meet Stone unarmed, as the half-orc is. Stone adopts a defensive stance, and they begin to advance towards each other.</p><p></p><p>Stone swings first, as they reach his range, but the ratman dodges his blows, as though he can see them coming. The rat man retaliates with a rapid onslaught of blows. Stone dodges a kick, but two punches land, and the young half-orc reels backwards. With a spin, the ratman tries to bring his tail down in a heavy slam, but Stone is able to step back out of the way.</p><p></p><p>Stone circles around to his right, looking for an opening. He tries to strike with the flurry of rapid punches which has served him so well before, but the ratman dodges easily. </p><p></p><p>“Old man, you are spry!” he exclaims with respect.</p><p></p><p>“Your very body betrays you!” the ratman answers. “Tells me what you do, your body does, even before you know. This is The Way of Golthain!” </p><p></p><p>The ratman whips his tail around at Stone’s feet, and trips him. Stone tries to roll out of it, but the ratman leaps where he is trying to roll to and hits him with two more punches, hard blows which knock the wind from Stone’s lungs. </p><p></p><p>The ratman steps back. He isn’t even breathing hard. “Yield, do you?” he asks, as he allows Stone to stand up.</p><p></p><p>Blood trickles from Stone’s lip, where one of the first punches landed, and he feels dizzy. He can’t draw enough breath to answer. He shakes his head determinedly, and steps to attack again.</p><p></p><p>He feints with a kick, and as the ratman dodges that, Stone catches him with a fist, a decent blow across the muzzle. When he tries to follow up, however, the ratman has stepped sideways, out of reach.</p><p></p><p>“Admirable, is your discipline,” the ratman tells him. “Well have your masters taught you. Discipline is not enough, however!”</p><p></p><p>They face each other again, and this time the ratman leaps forward to the attack. His limbs move faster than the dizzied half-orc can follow, and numerous blows land. He falls to his knees, where he hears the ratman say, “Meet again shall we.” The last thing he sees is a roundhouse kick flashing towards his skull.</p><p></p><p>Darkness overcomes him.</p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p>While Stone lies, unconscious, in a distant clearing, Paks staggers through a collapsing passageway under the hill of the standing stones, carrying the limp form of Telryn. She is hunched over, with the young mage held in her right arm and her shield held above them both in her left, aided by the <em>bull’s strength</em> spell he had cast on her earlier. A constant stream of prayer escapes her lips, as she begs the Gods to spare them, and gives thanks that the mage is so light.</p><p></p><p>Larger, heavier rocks are falling, and some are now rolling down the circular rampway. The warrior struggles to keep her balance, dodging the rocks as she works her way steadfastly up hill. </p><p></p><p>When she reaches the pit, she slips around it on the narrow ledge to the right side. Rocks of all sizes rain upon her shield, and she is lucky to maintain her balance. None of her companions remain to aid her if she falls. Only the spell’s enchanted strength keeps her shield arm up.</p><p></p><p>She reaches the final set of spikes, but on the other side, rocks have been piling up. There isn’t room to get past. She begins to pull them out of the way, praying that the cave-in isn’t too deep, and that she can find a way to escape. Again, her magically enhanced strength saves her, and she is able to make a narrow opening that she can push the limp body of the mage through. She has to pause again and widen it to make room for her armor, scraping herself across the rocks as she clambers over them. </p><p></p><p>Finally, she reaches the last leg, the staircase. It begins to crumble beneath her, and great cracks opening in the ground beneath her as the very earth swallows the blasphemous horrors below.</p><p></p><p>At last, she bursts from the hilltop into the night. Miriel and Goldpetal are waiting for her, and leap forward to help her. “My horse!” she calls. Beside her, the altar falls deep into the ground, as the hill begins to collapse. </p><p></p><p>“Thank the goddess!” Miriel yells. “Paks, hurry!” She and the druid help Paks carry Telryn down off of the hill as it begins to collapse beneath them. The earth rumbles beneath their feet, but they successfully make it to the bottom, where they lay Telryn on the ground.</p><p></p><p>We all turn in time to witness the final moments, as the great hill collapses in upon the shrine beneath it with a deafening roar. The Hope, Madriel’s Tear, and our friend Hands of Fire are all lost forever, and we can only hope that the sacrifice has sealed the hole through which the ratmen were summoning an ancient evil.</p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p>Most of the group sit, exhausted, at the bottom of the hill, catching our breath, while Goldpetal and Miriel tend to the wounded. Telryn, still unconscious, is the worst off, but the elf intones a druidic ritual over the young mage, healing the worst of his injuries and bringing him back to consciousness.</p><p></p><p>Miriel has just enough energy left to heal the worst of Novalia's injuries, but then she is too exhausted to channel her goddess' healing powers any further. </p><p></p><p>After the shaking has stopped, and we have healed each other, Goldpetal attempts to consecrate the land to Denev, to finish healing the wounds of the evil ritual we have stopped. </p><p></p><p>After several minutes, he turns to us. “I have failed,” he says, sadly. “I lack the strength to heal such a deep wound by myself. I need some time to meditate, to find a way to heal the land.”</p><p></p><p>“The rest of us need to rest,” Miriel says. Telryn in particular has had a rough night, and we are all bruised and battered to some extent. </p><p></p><p>“Why don’t we go to the stand of trees we camped in,” Paks suggest. “It’s maybe a half-hour’s walk away.”</p><p></p><p>“That works,” Chuck says. </p><p></p><p>“Goldpetal, come find us there when you’re done,” Paks tells the elf.</p><p></p><p>Leaving the elf behind, the rest of us take the horses and ride over to our frequently-used camp site. It is a nice spot, with a shady glen of trees in the day, and a small, fresh stream running nearby. When last we camped, the streambed was dry, but after the recent storm, there is plenty of water now, and the babbling brook provides a soothing background noise.</p><p></p><p>We rest, some sleeping, and others talking.</p><p></p><p>“That was the most evil thing I’ve ever seen,” Paks says, shaking her head in awe.</p><p></p><p>“What were they doing?” asks Chuck.</p><p></p><p>“They were using the Hope’s pain to raise the Writhing One,” Miriel answers. “Every cut they made, the Hope would feel pain, but its regenerative powers would heal the wound. They could keep it in constant pain, without ever killing it. The shrine reflected the Hope’s pain back in on itself, taking its agony to a level so pure, so awful, that it could break the barrier between our world and the other planes, allowing the Nameless One to return.</p><p></p><p>“Thank Madriel that we had Her Tear, for that was all that could have saved us,” she says reverently. “Such evil is far beyond anything I’ve heard of, this side of legend.”</p><p></p><p>We sit in awed silence, each contemplating what had happened in that awful shrine in our own way.</p><p></p><p>After several minutes, Miriel shakes her head. “I’m going to sleep,” she says.</p><p></p><p>“I’ll stand watch,” Chuck volunteers.</p><p></p><p>“Me too,” says Novalia. “I can’t sleep, after that.” </p><p></p><p>As she sets out her bedroll, Miriel notices a sharp pain from the palm of her right hand when she grabs hold of the blanket. When she looks at it, she sees that she has a teardrop-shaped burn in her palm where she held Madriel’s Tear.</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Amaroq, post: 1869995, member: 15470"] [b]Issue #17: Interludes and Intermissions - Episode 1 of 13[/b] [RIGHT][SIZE=1]12th of April, 2003[/SIZE][/RIGHT] [CENTER][SIZE=4]Issue #17[/SIZE] [SIZE=5][B]Interludes and Initiations[/B][/SIZE][/CENTER] [I]Just after sunset, a blind old ratman approached Kratys Freehold. He exuded an aura which prevented most of the guards from drawing their bows to fire at him, and when Taryn Kratys shot at him, he knocked the arrow from the air. Beneath his cloak, his fur was mottled black and white. He warned us that followers of Gormoth were enacting evil rituals at the standing stones, covered his head with his hood, and strode quickly off into the gloom of twilight. Chuck fired one last arrow at him, and the ratman casually batted the arrow out of mid-air. “No way!” Stone yelled, with feeling. The half-orc monk leapt off the parapet, breaking his fall by tumbling with the landing. “I’ll take care of the blind one,” he yelled up to the rest of us. “You guys take care of the ritual!” And with that, he chased the blind rat man, while the rest of us traveled to the standing stones. There, we discovered a group of strange, misshapen ratmen, followers of Gormoth, and a shrine to that Titan. The ratmen had captured a Hope, one of Madriel’s angels, and were torturing it to try to bring Gormoth back. Using Madriel’s Tear, we were able to kill the shaman, stop the ritual, and destroy the shrine, but the powers unleashed have caused a great earthquake, and Paks and Telryn have not made it out.[/I] It is the night of Belsaday, the seventh day of Madrer. Stone chases the blind rat man, but he is slowly losing ground. The gathering darkness makes it difficult to see his quarry. Though the half-orc has always been fastest in races and running, this blind old ratman is outdistancing him. He yells, “Hey! Stop!” but there is no effect. Finally, he stumbles over something, and when he tumbles and rolls to his feet, the ratman is nowhere to be seen. However, the path he has taken is clear. He finds that it isn’t very difficult to follow the ancient ratman. In fact, it almost seems as if the signs he is following were being left for him intentionally. He continues to run, a loping gait which his half-orcish muscles can maintain for hours. After more than an hour’s run, the trail leads to a clearing. In the center of the clearing stands the rat man, hooded and leaning on his staff. He is bathed in the baleful reddish light of the Nameless Orb, the second moon. The monks of Hedrada have taught the half-orc to ignore the moon, but Goldpetal’s dire warning that it is a bad omen echoes in his mind. Stone steps into the clearing, and bows to the ratman. “Venerable master,” he calls. “I request teaching.” The ratman speaks in a low voice, with a hissing, whistling accent. It sounds as though it is a labor for him to speak in the human tongue. “Why seek you to follow me?” Stone stands before the ratman. “I believe we are following the same path,” he answers, resolutely. The ratman crooks one finger before him. “You think you are initiated in The Way,” he says, then shakes his head and wags the crooked finger side to side. “But yours is not The Way.” “Then we must settle this now,” the monk retorts. “Happy will I be to teach you The True Way,” the ratman tells him. Stone takes off his shirt and stretches a bit. The ratman pulls back his hood, and takes off his cloak. His fur is mottled black and white, and he has no eyes at all. His eye sockets are empty. He starts whirling his staff in a tight, precise form. Stone looks around for a staff of his own, but there do not seem to be any branches of useful size. The ratman begins to intone, as though speaking a ritual, or a prophecy. “Golthain’s Way is the True Way. Only He showed The Way. For this He suffered. For this He is gone. Other ways are false, mockeries of Golthain.” Stone stands up, and responds firmly. “Hedrada shows the rightful path. His Ways supplant the ancient Ways.” The ratman answers loudly, but without rancor. “The way of Hedrada is not The Way. His laws, the laws of a betrayer are. His judgments, from a kin-slayer, from a patricide. This will I prove to you!” He casts his staff aside, to meet Stone unarmed, as the half-orc is. Stone adopts a defensive stance, and they begin to advance towards each other. Stone swings first, as they reach his range, but the ratman dodges his blows, as though he can see them coming. The rat man retaliates with a rapid onslaught of blows. Stone dodges a kick, but two punches land, and the young half-orc reels backwards. With a spin, the ratman tries to bring his tail down in a heavy slam, but Stone is able to step back out of the way. Stone circles around to his right, looking for an opening. He tries to strike with the flurry of rapid punches which has served him so well before, but the ratman dodges easily. “Old man, you are spry!” he exclaims with respect. “Your very body betrays you!” the ratman answers. “Tells me what you do, your body does, even before you know. This is The Way of Golthain!” The ratman whips his tail around at Stone’s feet, and trips him. Stone tries to roll out of it, but the ratman leaps where he is trying to roll to and hits him with two more punches, hard blows which knock the wind from Stone’s lungs. The ratman steps back. He isn’t even breathing hard. “Yield, do you?” he asks, as he allows Stone to stand up. Blood trickles from Stone’s lip, where one of the first punches landed, and he feels dizzy. He can’t draw enough breath to answer. He shakes his head determinedly, and steps to attack again. He feints with a kick, and as the ratman dodges that, Stone catches him with a fist, a decent blow across the muzzle. When he tries to follow up, however, the ratman has stepped sideways, out of reach. “Admirable, is your discipline,” the ratman tells him. “Well have your masters taught you. Discipline is not enough, however!” They face each other again, and this time the ratman leaps forward to the attack. His limbs move faster than the dizzied half-orc can follow, and numerous blows land. He falls to his knees, where he hears the ratman say, “Meet again shall we.” The last thing he sees is a roundhouse kick flashing towards his skull. Darkness overcomes him. While Stone lies, unconscious, in a distant clearing, Paks staggers through a collapsing passageway under the hill of the standing stones, carrying the limp form of Telryn. She is hunched over, with the young mage held in her right arm and her shield held above them both in her left, aided by the [I]bull’s strength[/I] spell he had cast on her earlier. A constant stream of prayer escapes her lips, as she begs the Gods to spare them, and gives thanks that the mage is so light. Larger, heavier rocks are falling, and some are now rolling down the circular rampway. The warrior struggles to keep her balance, dodging the rocks as she works her way steadfastly up hill. When she reaches the pit, she slips around it on the narrow ledge to the right side. Rocks of all sizes rain upon her shield, and she is lucky to maintain her balance. None of her companions remain to aid her if she falls. Only the spell’s enchanted strength keeps her shield arm up. She reaches the final set of spikes, but on the other side, rocks have been piling up. There isn’t room to get past. She begins to pull them out of the way, praying that the cave-in isn’t too deep, and that she can find a way to escape. Again, her magically enhanced strength saves her, and she is able to make a narrow opening that she can push the limp body of the mage through. She has to pause again and widen it to make room for her armor, scraping herself across the rocks as she clambers over them. Finally, she reaches the last leg, the staircase. It begins to crumble beneath her, and great cracks opening in the ground beneath her as the very earth swallows the blasphemous horrors below. At last, she bursts from the hilltop into the night. Miriel and Goldpetal are waiting for her, and leap forward to help her. “My horse!” she calls. Beside her, the altar falls deep into the ground, as the hill begins to collapse. “Thank the goddess!” Miriel yells. “Paks, hurry!” She and the druid help Paks carry Telryn down off of the hill as it begins to collapse beneath them. The earth rumbles beneath their feet, but they successfully make it to the bottom, where they lay Telryn on the ground. We all turn in time to witness the final moments, as the great hill collapses in upon the shrine beneath it with a deafening roar. The Hope, Madriel’s Tear, and our friend Hands of Fire are all lost forever, and we can only hope that the sacrifice has sealed the hole through which the ratmen were summoning an ancient evil. Most of the group sit, exhausted, at the bottom of the hill, catching our breath, while Goldpetal and Miriel tend to the wounded. Telryn, still unconscious, is the worst off, but the elf intones a druidic ritual over the young mage, healing the worst of his injuries and bringing him back to consciousness. Miriel has just enough energy left to heal the worst of Novalia's injuries, but then she is too exhausted to channel her goddess' healing powers any further. After the shaking has stopped, and we have healed each other, Goldpetal attempts to consecrate the land to Denev, to finish healing the wounds of the evil ritual we have stopped. After several minutes, he turns to us. “I have failed,” he says, sadly. “I lack the strength to heal such a deep wound by myself. I need some time to meditate, to find a way to heal the land.” “The rest of us need to rest,” Miriel says. Telryn in particular has had a rough night, and we are all bruised and battered to some extent. “Why don’t we go to the stand of trees we camped in,” Paks suggest. “It’s maybe a half-hour’s walk away.” “That works,” Chuck says. “Goldpetal, come find us there when you’re done,” Paks tells the elf. Leaving the elf behind, the rest of us take the horses and ride over to our frequently-used camp site. It is a nice spot, with a shady glen of trees in the day, and a small, fresh stream running nearby. When last we camped, the streambed was dry, but after the recent storm, there is plenty of water now, and the babbling brook provides a soothing background noise. We rest, some sleeping, and others talking. “That was the most evil thing I’ve ever seen,” Paks says, shaking her head in awe. “What were they doing?” asks Chuck. “They were using the Hope’s pain to raise the Writhing One,” Miriel answers. “Every cut they made, the Hope would feel pain, but its regenerative powers would heal the wound. They could keep it in constant pain, without ever killing it. The shrine reflected the Hope’s pain back in on itself, taking its agony to a level so pure, so awful, that it could break the barrier between our world and the other planes, allowing the Nameless One to return. “Thank Madriel that we had Her Tear, for that was all that could have saved us,” she says reverently. “Such evil is far beyond anything I’ve heard of, this side of legend.” We sit in awed silence, each contemplating what had happened in that awful shrine in our own way. After several minutes, Miriel shakes her head. “I’m going to sleep,” she says. “I’ll stand watch,” Chuck volunteers. “Me too,” says Novalia. “I can’t sleep, after that.” As she sets out her bedroll, Miriel notices a sharp pain from the palm of her right hand when she grabs hold of the blanket. When she looks at it, she sees that she has a teardrop-shaped burn in her palm where she held Madriel’s Tear. [/QUOTE]
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The Scourge of the Ratmen [Scarred Lands] - Updated 1/26
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