The TOMB Of HORRORS Updated 08/17/05

[DM-Rocco]

Seson 13 module A4 In the Dungeons of the Slave Lords

From the Journal of Stonecracker Boulderwhacker

We have had a time of it since our capture. Not since I served a five-year stitch as the jail warden in Dratchenduh warrens have I seen such cruelty, such inhumanity. Our capturers have tortured us to the brink of madness, inflicting every form of torture I know of, and a few new ones, but the worst of it is when they have deprived us of our six square meals a day, now that is cruel.

I thought I would go mad with hunger, until fate intervened in the form of the volcano starting an irruption. Thanks to the underground movement on the island we were able to escape, but only into danger. It was in the caves under the island to were we fled. Left in total dark and deprived of spells, weapons and food, we had to rely on skill and daring to get away.

In the dark we crawled, heading for the only light we could see, a distant glow in a hall of gloom. It was then that a sand crawler attacked us from below. Were it not for the cleric calling forth water, we would have been ripped apart.

We turned from the light, hoping to find sanctuary in the dark, the light brought nothing but trouble. We crawled on hands and knees until we came upon a community of Myconid, or fungus men. I tell ya now, that as hungry as I was, those mushroom-headed people were lucky that I had no eggs and cheese or I would have made one large omelet.

Their king agreed to show us to the surface if we would kill the giant crawfish in the cave beyond. We agreed and lured the crawfish down the cave with Gren as bait, and then used the scrolls we had to create a pit in the soft sand and then cover it with a wall of fog. With the death of the crawfish we earned our freedom and we were quick to take it.

Making our way to sun light we came upon a group of mercenaries bent on using the volcanic eruption as an excuse to loot the main fort of Sunderham. We attacked then and gain our first real weapons. Glad to feel the comfort of a sword in my hands we quickly made our way down to the docks were the remaining slave lords were loading loot into the water dragon, their galley.

We hatched a plan to invade their ranks, but the cleric had the gift of true sight and spoiled our plan. It was an all out brawl after that. I ran straight for the female drow, and after asking her if she meant me ill will, I chopped off her head.

We slew all of our enemies save one, the mage escaped our grasp, but I fear (fine, he frets since he is immune to fear) that I have not seen the last of that one. So off into the sunset we sailed, our hearts full of thanks to be alive, our conscious at ease knowing that we have at least halted the slave trade and our purses happy for finally being full.

 

[DM-Rocco]

Session 14 module Mausoleum of Lost Gods

From the (semi) divine inspirational journal of his most high and mighty self, me, Khael the mighty (delusional)

It was at my daily Heroes feast that I first noticed that something was amiss, that Pelor was angry. It came in the form of shooting pain and nausea. Something was happening that had angered him greatly, I don’t think it was the time I left my boots on his alter or the fact that I partook of the sparsely clothed young 18 year old female recruits. I had a sense that it was something worse, something I could not have predicted. Then Pelor spelled it out for me, the temple of Pelor, in the city of Sigil, was under attack.

We girded our weapons and donned our armor and in a flash, well, after that last pheasant leg, we were gone. When we came to the temple, we could see it burning, but I know not if it was the fact that the strangers had dared to attack our sacred temple, or that it was burning, or if it was the source of the flame that stopped my heart, for before us stood a mighty pit fiend, a demon of the most foul kind.

His main was a lick of flame and with every step there erupted a bonfire of flame. In one had he wielded a whip, forged of molted lava, which he used with deadly accuracy to slay any followers of Pelor who approached, while in his other hand he held a massive flaming mace that burst anything it touched into flames, as it did to the temple with each mighty blow.

It was not just him, he was not alone.

A cleric of the veil god Vecna stood before the temple locked in a heated battle with the high priest. In the temple, more followers of Vecna swarmed the temple grounds, slaying any who bore the mark of Pelor, or who dared to help. We tried our best to aid my high priest, but we were unable to make a difference before the worshippers of Vecna retrieved a ancient artifact and then, in a flash, they we gone, leaving only the Pit Fiend, and two cloaked individuals, one cloaked in the shadows of his own cloak so deep you could not see his face and the other, similarly cloaked, but he wore a mask, clearly visible, mocking any who saw it with pain and suffering.

We had no chance to deal with the cloaked figures as they vanished into the crowd, we had a Pit Fiend on our hands. He was massive, towering at more than fifty feet. He had a time of it and had he not used his most potent spells on the followers of the temple of Pelor, we would not have been a match for him. Luck was on our side and we slew him, but not before he finished off the temple.

Later we would come to find out that the clerics of Vecna attacked the temple of Pelor in hopes of getting the Ring of Pelor, an artifact of great magic and power. Evil is not even allowed to touch it, not with out great harm inflicted upon them, but when used be evil, in the Mausoleum of Lost Gods, it could be used to open a portal in the Gem of Oblivion, to release the trapped souls of Vecna. This was told to us by a Man, no, strike that, a God, who could not come before us in Sigil since gods are not allowed in the city plane, rather he approached us in the keep we took over from the slavers. He explained that he was a God, a long lost god of misery and suffering and he would like to put an end to his life. When the Gods wish to die, they must travel to the Mausoleum of Lost Gods and step into the leathe arch way so there powers can be consumed by the Gen of Oblivion, thus killing them. He shared this information about Vecna with us in hopes that while we were there anyway, we would kill him. With a swift yes, we agreed and accepted reckoner, a plain looking dagger, which we would soon come to find could cut through just about anything, even god flesh.

Unknown to us at the time, by crushing the gem, we were transported just outside the Mausoleum of Lost Gods on a road, and before us stood the followers of Vecna. We wasted no time in casting spells to bring our enemies down, but it was then that we noticed that magic would not work in this plane, later we found out it was cause we were not so much on a plane as we were on the body of Xerxanch, the beholder god, who is as big as a small moon and it was actually one of his mountain sized eye stalks that deprived us of magic, it was another mountain sized stalk that turned on us and transferred our souls from body to body. It was then that we had a moment of opportunity to strike a decisive blow with magic, while one stalk closed and the other opened.

We then came upon a chasm, on which the other side stood the Mausoleum of Lost Gods guarded by Wayfickle, the guardian, a huge frost giant. Him to we had to defeat without magic, but Xerxanch switched our souls again and again in the brief pause were we could use magic, we slew the guardian and grabbed his key.

In side the Mausoleum of Lost Gods we saw a huge iron door close, the robes of the clerics of Vecna just a split second before us. We tried to follow, but the magic of the Mausoleum of Lost Gods rest all tricks and traps and relocked all the doors. In this doors were nine key holes, but we had no keys. Nine other rooms filled the Mausoleum of Lost Gods and in each room was a puzzle that would lead us to a key. Many of times we came close to our own death, while some of the rooms hardly presented a challenge for us. The hardest was the last as it was the one where we had to sacrifice one of our souls for the final key. In the end the stout of heart dwarf took a step forward and gave his life so we may have a chance to stop the spread of evil.

With heavy hearts we went into the main hall of the Mausoleum of Lost Gods and opened the forbidden doors. Inside the clerics of Vecna had just completed the dark ritual, which consumed the lives of the remaining followers, leaving only the high priest and two clocked figures. The Gem of Oblivion shook and trembled and then a burst of energy shot through the gem and into high priest, transforming him into the avatar of Vecna. It was then that I remembered the Talisman of pure good and before Vecna had a chance to fully for his avatar, I split the Tailsman of pure good in two and a deep rumble erupted from the ground as a crack that lead to the pits of hell opened under the feet of the almost avatar of Vecna, consuming him in a flash of brimstone and ash.

The two remaining clocked figures, the one with his head buried deep into his hood and the other with the frightful mask, then disappeared, gone from the realm. However, I think I have not heard the last of Vecna or his cult.

Now we stood before Death of Gods and it was then that Azreal transformed from a flake of skin on my clothes into his more godly figure, that of a old man in tattered robes and decaying skin and the stench of death.

Now he revealed his master plan, Gods can not enter the Mausoleum of Lost Gods and keep there powers, but if someone does it all for them, then they can face Death of Gods with all their might. Azreal and Death of Gods both drew forth Ghostly Scythes that made the ears cringe with pain when they struck each other. Three times we tried to aid in the fight, he was immune to our magic, as I am now sure most divine beings are. Three times Gren stabbed him with Reckoner, the mighty blade that could cut through anything. The damage from the blade did not really seems to play a factor into the battle, it was obvious that Azreal felt the sting of the blade, but the true damage came from the distraction the Gren made with the mighty blows of the dagger. It was then the Azreal pulled Reckoner from Gren’s hand and summoned four shades to fight by his side. We made short work of them, Pelor is mighty and wise and in his wisdom he granted my dominion over these creatures and destroyed them with his hate. It was then that he heard a familiar voice.

“A Maralith head, a frost giants toe, and now the heart of god, good thing you keep me well feed with exotic fair or I would take my leave,” came a cry from the Leathe arch way as Stonecracker Boulderwacker took a step our of the arch, picked up Reckoner and ran with all his might, plunging Reckoner straight for Azreal’s black heart.

Cursing for not saying law bringer, even though it was not his magical halberd, he kicked the skull of the dieing Azreal. In the end we were victorious and Death of Gods granted each of us a wish. Hmm, what should I wish for?

 

[DM-Rocco]

Session 14 1/2 Module Vecna Lives

Here the party sarts the module Vecna Lives. As per the module I had them play out the role of the high level mages. This is that tale.

Oh, the life of a powerful wizard! As a callow youth, you were certain it was the life of luxury and excitement - easy living, riches and power with the wave of a hand.
Of course, your old masters never told you about the other part - the responsibility for the lives of the entire villages, cities and even lands. Of course, it's and honor to be part of the Circle of eight, guiding and protecting Hawking. Naturally, you have to do it all in secrecy so you don't mock the mayor's authority, and equally naturally you never get the credit.

Now, through divinations (or rather their failure), you've sensed some great danger to Hawking. It is not just you either; all of your fellow wizards at the guild of Wizardry have sensed something ominous. Whatever it is, Veenotheb, leader of your circle, is worried. He wants the best, the cream of the crop, to investigate this mystery.

“I have found an entrance to the tomb,” he heard the eager flamboyantly dressed mage say, “it looks like the whole mound is covering the tomb.”

“Let us descend and be quick about it,” he heard the fat mage declare, “I have an ill feeling about this place.”

In side the darkness of his prison he waited, as he did for over a thousand years, through the passage of time and the decay of earth, through famine and flood and now mischance, he waited. He was almost free, he could wait a little longer. He felt their presence through the walls, the walls he could not breach, whether through magic or might. Oh, he had tried, but the wards of his prison were enchanted by magic from another circle of eight, a circle who existed many centuries before these novices, and their magic was strong. Alone one of those mages could have stood toe to toe, they would in all likelihood die by his hand, but they would have had a chance; but together they had forged a prison that he could not escape and it was here that he rotted for centuries, waiting, biding his time. Now, this new circle of eight, with but a fraction of that power which was used to bind him, was his one chance to survive, to thrive, to live.

“I must test this new circle and their magic,” he said and he reached out with his arcane power that only he could control and from the elemental plane of fire he pulled three large fire frogs. Each stood taller than a human and there mouths were wide enough to swallow a human whole. Fire replaced their tongues and they belched sulfur.

The circle used powerful magic to disintegrate the frogs into neat piles of ash.

“They are strong in magic, but not to bright,” he said to himself. He often talked to himself for lack of anything else to do; he wasn’t worried, he never answered himself, so he was not insane, by his standards.

“See how they are breaking down the magic barrier, they remove the seals from the other side, something I could not do from my vantage point, but nice of them to help me out. Oh, to bad they did not examine the other side of the wall they just torn down. Shh, they approach Juritgress.”

He watched as the circle entered the next chamber and carefully examined the large great dragon that slept before them. “See how that wild dressed one takes charge, Tenser I think his name is, he shall bare watching. Poor Juritgress, he sleeps, for he is my guardian and since I can not pass this camber he knows he need not be awake. The whole army of the Kron hills could parade in his chamber and he would not know, for he has nothing to awaken him if other approach from the out side of the chamber, he was placed here to keep me in, not prevent others from coming in.

“Oh, that was impressive, disintegrate spells, fireballs, lightning bolts and meteor swarms, fairly typical spells for mages, and effective too, I can barely watch, well, barely. Ooo, that had to hurt, that mage died in a pool of acid, but the dragon died too, they are strong, but I think they are still not that bright. Well, at least one of them has a wish spell, that dead fellow looks none the worse for wear.

“Oh, I can’t stand it, see how they opened the second seal, I am all a tingle. I wonder if they can defeat the Mageistra. Few mages know how to defeat a golem totally immune to magic you know. Yes, very typical, again with the lightning and fireballs. Hmm, that fellow there, the chubby one with the mace, he has it figured out, or is he just out of mass killing spells and has gotten lucky. Of course you know that summon spells are a mages only defense against a creature totally immune to magic, for one the summoned creature takes form they are in this world as real creatures until dismissed, not some type of energy. There, the other have caught on too.

“I must retire now, while they are still out side, for they will be in this chamber soon enough and I have spells to prepare.

“The third seal is breached, I am free, but I will wait, I know, summon some imps to deal with them, then I will strike.

“These imps are yours,” said Tenser to the others, “I know that you can handle them and I have a feeling about that sarcophagus. Evil is thick in the air and it comes from that direction,” he yelled as he pointed to the stone sarcophagus. As he did so he unleashed magic towards the sarcophagus, but before it reached the stone coffin, it dissipated.

“Fools, you have released me, I am Vecna! Vecna! You have released me unto the world and the world will weep again at my return!”

“See how they stand still in the air, trapped in time. Really, it is too bad that they can not move,” said Vecna as he reached for the throat of Otiluke and crushed his wind pipe with his withered hand and again he reached out and snapped the neck of Otto in much the same matter. While he did this with the withered limb, he also reached down in side himself and used the power of his withered eye to charm the spiteful and resourceful Tenser.

“Such is the pity that they reek of good, this one would have made a good captain,” said Vecna as he crushed the throat of Bigby and then Drawmji and then turned his withered eye on Rary, who also fell to the evil of the eye.

“To bad, see how easy they die, just the snap of the finger,” said Vecna as he crushed the throats of Jallarzi and Nystul and then dismissed the rest of the summoned creatures. “Come you two, I am Vecna, your new lord, you are my servants and I have much for you to do.

Tenser and Rary turned towards their new master and bowed.

 

[DM-Rocco]

Session 15&16 Module Vecna Lives

This is te next part of vecna lives, but I wanted to run one low level bar fight for them to have fun with, so I had them make henchmen to travel to Hawking (my substitute for Grey Hawk). Towards the end of session 16, the main characters come back in.

From the pages of Oaklin the Half-Elf
Living in the City of Hawking I have seen all manner of strange things come and go, but none stranger than the night when I walked in to the Pleasant Pheasant an saw the mob of cultists attacking a small band of adventures who hailed from the outpost of Hilltop. Ettins where a come thing in the mountains just to the east of hawking, but not so much in the town itself, let alone a bar with such a low ceiling as the Pleasant Pheasant. Then there were the cultists to explain.

Never before had I seen such a strong group of foes battle such a small band of misfits. To my surprise they turned the tide of the fight to their advantage, but then the bigger Ogre ran though the door to give chase and then fell over dead, or what I thought had been dead, for in future moments his master Khael administered aid to his fallen henchman. In the door way stood a man, short but sturdy, who wielded daggers with an uncanny grace. He entered the room and continued the grim work where his friends had failed.

I thought my luck had finally run out when the heroes of the slave wars had come to our rescue, arriving in a flash of light to save the day and our lives. Here I was face to face with the very men of power who had single handedly destroyed the slave trade on the coast of the Land Locked Sea.

Star struck as I was, it came as a shock that their very henchmen came to seek me out, for I alone in the city of Hawking had information that they needed. I lead them through the sewers of Hawking to the remains of the cult of Vecna, where an elaborate plan was hatched to strike a blow to the heart of Vecna’s operation within the city of hawking.

I must admit that for most of the fight I can’t remember much. I remember leading them down to the sewers of the hawking were we where confronted by the leaders of the Shadow guild, a group of assassins who have their hand into every affair of state and beyond. They used magic to teleport us into the main temple of Vecna where a battle erupted. Then the robed cleric, the hooded one, stared at me with his head, for his head was not a head, but rather an eye, and I felt the very fabric of my being ripped from my body.

Later I learned that the being that took my soul was an abomination of sorts known simply as the Eye. He also had a companion who was known for the appendage that sprouted from his neck, thus he was called the Hand. The Eye seemed to be able to suck the very life from your body and was able to redirect magic back at it’s caster, while the Hand seemed to feed by draining the strength from your body and seemed a master of wielding daggers, faster than most could even see.

In the end we won that fight, somehow, and drove the head cleric and the Hand to another plane while the Eye seemed to die, freeing my soul back to my body. They have asked that I join them and my instinct is to say no, but my beloved city is besieged by enemies and I fear that if I do not lend my experience to these fine people that this cult of Vecna will rise to even greater power, then where will I be.

 

[DM-Rocco]

Session 17 Module Vecna Lives and The Tomb of Horros

Now the party knows of vecna and the need to confront him, but they suspect that the Tomb of Horrors may be able to aid them in this, so this is part of their journey to the Tomb.

“See there, in the last few ranks,” said Delvin as he pointed past the hoards of Orcs and Gnolls to large humanoids of various sizes. Three and four times the size of humans they could be none other than, “giants.”

“I see them,” said Gren.

“Let me at them,” screamed Boulder Shoulder, “let me at them, I’ll make a stew of there sinew.”

“Perhaps our gruff comrade is right, perhaps we should land, we have circled them for hours with no further information to be had,” said Khael as he was already beginning to land the party who was now in the form of wisps of clouds, flying on the currents of the air.

“No,” shouted Delvin, ”how could I be so stupid?”

“What is the matter with you, it is only a bunch of Goblins and a few tall people, me axe is ready.”

“Can’t you see, as we land and get closer to the ranks. Look there, the group of Trolls is actually a Drake, see how the curvature of the world combined with spell has distorted its true image.“

“By the light of Pelor,“ said Khael, shock evident on his face.

“Look there, that column of soldiers,” said Gren pointing to the right flanks, now able to see what Delvin was talking about,” they are not Goblins, they are siege Elophants and more in number than we could have seen from above.

“What’s the point, me blade can take them,” chimed in Boulder Shoulder.

“The point is that we were duped be a spell, an illusion,” said Gren.

“Not just an illusion,” instructed Delvin,” but a war illusion. Simple spells cast on such large forces would be able to hide very little of the army, war wizards have the capacity to weave spells that can affect a whole legion. There range is greater and the durations can last days, sometimes weeks. Most of the time they are different versions of spells that common wizards use, like my own spells, just with minor differences that make them suitable for war, like longer durations, quicker casting times and greater areas of effects.

“See how what we thought was just a few hundred Orcs from our vantage point was actually a legion of different races. One moment,” said Delvin as he inspected the weave that he could now see, “there, you see the troop movement to the right, how they are erratic and unpredictable in their movements. Watch.

The three watched as Khael began to lower them yet closer to the ground. In the distance the column of troops merged and twisted with the landscape and then they changed form from Orc to Gnoll to Goblin and always their numbers changed. So subtle was the changes that even the trained eyes of the three could hardly tell what the real force was and what was the illusion. Scarier still was the fact that they never could tell how many creatures were really down in that column.

“What does that matter, you had your fancy tactics and I have me blade, let me set it upon them,” growled the gruff dwarf.

“Well my vertically challenged friend, as you can see we are greatly out numbered, what we thought was a few hundred Orcs is more likely ten thousand Orcs, two hundred Gnolls, three hundred Trolls, fifty Drakes, thirty siege Elophants, one hundred Giants and that does not take into account the forces that we have yet to see or the one hundred Demon like commanders. Then there is one more problem,” casually stated Delvin.

“Oh, and what is that,” huffed the dwarf, “that you are to afraid of a good fight?”

“No,” calmly stated Delvin. He straightened out his robes as the party landed on the ground and became substantial again. By then it was apparent to everyone, but he said it anyway. “It’s just that the army has already been through here and judging by my estimation, I’d say quite some time ago.”

Indeed , what was an image of thousands of creatures of murderous intent was now just a gently rolling hill. The illusion had duped them all, to the last man and in Devlin‘s case, woman. It hide them from the correct numbers and make up of the approaching army and also covered there tracks, replaying the passing of the army some days before for those who might try to spy out the forces in the air. As the four looked around for signs of the passing, the trampled grass began to rise and straighten itself and the mud left in the wake of the army smoothed and evened out. Soon nothing was left to mark the armies passing other than the four who had viewed from an illusion miles above the Earth.

 

[DM-Rocco]

Session 18&19 Vecna Lives and The Tomb of Horrors

In session 18 the party arrives in the town of Kalistrad, a small town that borders the Vast Swamp, where the Tomb of Horrors dwells. The town has a lottery whenever Acerack sends word that he nees more souls. He usually does this every ten or twenty years and notifies the town by having specters attack the town in a vail of mist. The Party has offered to go instead of whomever "wins" the lottery. Party of Delvin's dream takes place before this event, for it covers the journey to Kalistrad, the rest takes place after he wakes up in the Vast Swzmp after the party felt powerful (or rather foolish) enough to not post a guard for the night.

Delvin, in the Mausoleum of the Lost Gods, got turned into a woman by a cursed belt. He also turned into a human then as well. In session 19, he angered Pelor, who changed her even further. Also, his class is now 10 levels of Celestial Servant (a house class that is similar to a sorcerer, except that they can cast divine spells too) and 5 levels of Celestial Sentinel (which is a pretiege class that is a cross between Divine agent and Paladin)

* * *​

From the Dreams of Delvin
She was beautiful in spite of her dark heritage. Her skin an inky black, her hair a shimmering silver, her eyes a vibrant shade of purple. She was hypnotic in her swagger, soothing in her words and arrogant in her power.

I should like to disintegrate her inky skin, chain lightning her shimmering hair and crush her vibrant eyes into oblivion.

She slew two stone giants with but a mere thought, as if a child burning ants. She has power, but I know I can take her; I am better than the rest.

She introduced herself as Shanandrea and her brothers as Kalindera and Jurith’vea. They were drow, born to a race of elves who in ages past were long banished from their surface cousins into the bowels of the earth. They claim to have transcended that evil heritage, forsaking their vial dark God Loth for a better way of life.

They are drow, I trust them not.

How can you turn your back on who you are? How can you be anything other than what you were raised? I have heard tales of surface drow. In the forests to the east of our Hilltop keep it is rumored that drow have breached the surface and live under the mountain clouds of the volcanoes. They worship neither the light nor the dark. I speculate that this is myth since I am always right, drow are evil.

She offers us safe passage across the mountain wall by means of a spell that takes us into the core of the earth. Wrapped in a sheath of stone we are whisked away in a claustrophobic manner threw the earth. We land in a closed cavern. No entrance, no exit can be seen. She summons a powerful air elemental to provide us with adequate breathing air. In spite of her kindness, I still hate her. Or do I hate her evil past?

The mountain wall. In ages past the forces of good made of the mountain range that separated the lands a huge wall. The Gods themselves are said to have raised the wall and then imbued it with magical powers so that magic fades as you approach and then dies. They did this for the love of their children, to protect them and keep them safe from the forces of Arrazznecronakk. None since have breached the wall but forces try every day only to be driven back by its defenders. She explains that the only way to cross the mountain wall is to travel under the mountain itself. Deep in the earth they have set up a series of caves like this for just this purpose.

It takes a week of this sort of traveling to get us to the town of Kalstrand, far on the other side of the mountain wall. I can immediately sense the difference in the air. The weight of evil is not here. On the other side the evil bears down on you like a vice. It smothers every breath you take and corrupts your every waking thought and pollutes your dreams. Here there is nothing of the kind. Hear it is as if the world has been cleansed of the filth of the damned. Here you can breath. It is like stepping into an alternate reality.

In the distance the city of Kalstrand shines like a beacon of hope in a world of joy and content. A patrol comes our way. White stallions that look well cared for and groomed bear knights dressed in full plate that shines and glistens in the rising sun. A aura of good surrounds them and the leader speaks.

“Hail and greetings to thee,” he says with a raised hand in a show a respect.

“And to you,” says Khael, “may the light of Pelor protect you.”

“Do you rise when things are backed?” says the knight.

“What,” I say; surely I have a look of confusion upon my face.

“Rise when things are backed.” He says and he removes his helm to speak more clearly. I can see his face, it is familiar to me. A rather striking jaw line and an aura of power give me chills down my spine. He is strikingly handsome, where do I know him from?

“Rise when things are backed,“ he is repeating it over and over but in Khael’s voice. Perhaps he is a ventriloquist for he sounds just like him and looks just like me? It is me, taking in Khael’s voice and then I remember, I am no longer a man and that I am a sleep.

“Rise we are being attacked!”

* * *
​

Delvin arose to watch his demise. From the center of camp two dread wraiths attacked Khael and he watched in helpless horror as they ripped his soul apart. A corporeal mist rose from his body and the two dread wraiths split it in two and sucked its essence into each other. His body, nothing more than an empty shell, withered to nothing.

“No,” she heard herself scream. She damned herself for not setting a guard. Had they set one they surely would have seen the creatures approach or noticed some sign that things were amiss and then prepared for just such a thing.

She cast many spells and her companions fought bravely and they defeated the remaining dread wraiths but she would remember very little of that. Not until he reminded her.

* * *
​

“Here is the body of Khael the brave,” she said threw a brave charade of faithlessness. She masked her pain in her eyes but the tears that had dried upon her cheeks told another tale.

“Here he lies and for what is reward he is to receive. Death greeted him not more than a day out from our camp. Where is his god now, why does he cower from Khael in his time of need? Where is this god? Why did he not protect his faithful? Why did he not bring him back from the dead? Why? Why?

“I challenge you men and women of Kalstrand, call upon your god, and demand that he bring back my friend. Who among you claims to have the power? I renounce you and your god. I offer any who can call upon this false god one million gold to whomever can bring my friend back from deaths door. One million gold to whomever can convince me that the gods do exist. One million gold to whomever can prove me wrong. I believe that all magic is related and clerics are just another form of wizards. Prove me wrong and one million gold shall be yours.

The whole of the town went into a rage of disbelief and sorrow. However this only lasted for a mere moment as many tried to bring back the soul of Khael into his body and yet others tried to debate the principles of faith and the structure of the gods. Delvin countered at every turn, actually swaying some to his side of the argument. The debated last for the whole of the day, with none able to resurrect Khael or to break the foundation of the argument that Delvin had laid before him.

“I am right, the gods do not exist and none of you have been able to prove me wrong. I am right again as always,” said Delvin.

“Pardon me mam, I believe that you have an artifact of the church in your possession and Pelor would like very much its return,” came a soft reply from a small teenage girl.

“Well,” stated Delvin not even bothering with the child’s name, “if Pelor wants it back he can come and claim it. If I am right and the gods do not exist then this is not the artifact of the church but rather the property of my friend Khael and now mine. You use the church as a crutch to get things you can’t get through other means. You want this artifact then have Pelor come and take it from me, barring that, I shall sell it to you, say ten thousand gold.”

“You would be wise to not anger Pelor, he is kind and benevolent, but if you should anger him, then I have pity on your soul,” said the child.

“Stand aside, I grow tired of this and wish to get some sleep. You just can’t stand that I am right and every one else is wrong. I am better then every one else, even this town, even Pelor,” said Delvin and she made a move to cross the child’s path. The child stood firm and in her haste the child was knocked down to the ground by her passing.

“Is it not in bad form to have no manners. Even one as powerful and strong as you should concede that, should you not,” came a reply from behind her and Delvin turned to face this new debater. An older man dressed in simple white robes ran his fingers through his thick and wild hair and beard that had about it a golden hue. “Pelor is the creator of many good things, a supporter of those in need, an adversary of all that is evil. He is the deity most commonly worshipped among ordinary humans and his priests are most welcome in all lands this side of the mountain wall and in most on the other. Why is it that you disbelieve?” he said as he helped the child up from the ground.

“I know, your friend right? Why did Pelor the mighty not bring him back from the dead, why did he not protect him? Every person has their roll, Khael’s was not to live, his was to guide and although the one he guided does not yet know it, yet there will come a time when his sacrifice was not in vain. Sometimes all you have is faith, and it is enough. But you require more.”

“Save your words, I know every question you would ask of me, I knew years before you even thought to ask them, rather than waste our time with the questions, how about the answers?

“The Gods govern the cosmos…” began the old man as he went into a lecture of the history of the gods and the creation of the cosmos and the children of the world. Delvin stood dumfounded before the old man, unable to speak a signal word. The old man continued for what seemed like hours or even days.

“Yes, I know, you have not seen these wonders so you have very little faith in what I speak, come then, let’s explore them together,” and with that Delvin was whisked away from plane to plane, guided by the old man who showed him things he could only dream of. Delvin had questions, many questions, and he had answers before she asked the questions. Again they stood before the town square and the old man spoke again.

“You still doubt me, I know, everything I have shown you and still doubt reigns your heart. True, everything I have shown you could be just an illusion and my words lies. How about faith? Let’s test that, follow me,” said the old man as if she had a choice and they were whisked away into a Balor’s lair on the abyssal layers 364. The great creature noticed them when the old man allowed it, which wasn’t until the old man allowed Delvin into a fraction of his mind so he would know that he would use no trick of magic for this feat. The Balor, a servant of evil in all its cruelest incarnations, lunged for the attack. Pelor stood his ground and spoke. No fancy spells, no magical might, no illusions, just words and with these words he turned this demon of the pits into a friend. Oh, evil still rules its heart, but from Hostile in intent to friendly in action the Balor’s attitude changed with nothing but words. Then Pelor stood still and did nothing as the Balor’s servants entered the room and when they lunged to attack Pelor it was not Pelor that did anything but rather the Balor who smote his own servants to protect his new found friend.

“Still you doubt, what else can I do to make you believe? No, I can not show you my true form for it would burn your body alive just to look upon it. Would you settle for just my back? Yes, I knew you would?” And with that Pelor appeared in place of the Old Man, but not all of him, only his back but this was enough. Delvin looked upon it and knew. His eyes started to burn but he could not look away from Pelor’s back. His eyes melted down his face and burned into his skin.

“I believe, please no more,” cried Delvin.

“No, you do not,” said Pelor, “but you will.”

With that Pelor snapped his fingers and tore apart Delvin cell by cell, then molecule by molecule and then atom by atom. He reconstructed his body from the inside out altering his DNA and molding him to his desire.

“Please stop,” cried Delvin when he had enough cells to create a mouth that worked.

“But I am not done,” said Pelor and he continued, “remember your sins,” and Devlin screamed in pain as he recalled every bad decision he had ever made. He recalled how she left the helpless city of Hawking alone to defend itself from the hoards of the advancing army. How she forced his way into unlawful negotiations and the less than honorable tactics she used at times to get information, this not counting the times she just stood by and watched as others did the same.

“I believe you had said if I can prove myself then you would serve me and it will be under this oath you shall do so: Noble service cheerfully rendered, defense of any charge unto death, courage and enterprise in obedience to rule, respect for all peers and equals, honor to all above your station, obedience and respect from all beneath your station, scorn for those who are lowly and ignoble, Military prowess exercised in service to your lord and God, Courtesy to all ladies, tolerance to all men, Parley is the opening of all doors, battle is the option of closed doors, war is the flowering of chivalry, battle is the test of man or womanhood, combat is glory, personal glory above all in battle, death to all who oppose the cause and death before dishonor.

“I believe that you had wished for the power of the divine to coarse through your blood and to forsake your sorcerer ways, I shall do this too, but allow you a scrap of your former arcane self to both honor your sacrifice and remind you of where you came from and this shall be the Dogma that you have sacrificed for: Though widely revered as a peaceful and gentle deity who alleviates suffering, the church of Pelor has a more martial aspect. He brings his wraith to bear on all darkness and evil, and he invigorates and heals all those who champion good. Pelor teaches that the energy of life originates from the sun. This light brings strength to the weak and health to the injured, while destroying darkness and evil. He urges his followers to challenge the forces of corruption aggressively, but also to remember that staring at the sun can cause blindness of the eyes, relentless attention to the destruction of negative forces can blind the heart to the true essence of life: kindness, mercy, compassion.

Delvin cringed in fear and awe as her body transformed from what it was. Her features where perfect and they were so again. Pelor took from her the Ring of Pelor and enlarged it in size and then placed it around her neck were is shrunk to fit her snug.

“You wished to be a holy warrior, you must first prove yourself worthy of the honor, you and your friends have agreed to complete a task, to destroy an evil that has survived for countless eons, do this and you shall be rewarded. You will need a weapon to complete this feat, you may use my forge to create this item, come with me,” and with that Pelor took her to his home plane.

She had worked with metals of all types in the past and now she was working with the finest of the best in a forge that was second to none.

“Yes, I could have made you the weapon that you have just made, I could have done this for you, but this is the first of many lessons you must learn, some times it is best for your children to do for themselves rather than the father always doing for them. Come now, it is time to go.”

With that he brought her to the city square of Kalstrand. The first thing she noticed was that it was as if time had stood still for the world looked like a painting.

“Delvin, there is a final lesson for you to learn that I must do for your own good for you are in need of this lesson more than any other I have ever seen. Your perfect self has lead to a life of arrogance and egotistical rage, something that I will remedy now.”

Delvin screamed as her body changed yet again, her perfect looks gone and withered to nothing. So horrible was her features that the ugliest ogre child would be an improvement over her.

“You have been blind since looking at my back so I shall tell you what happened and I shall use small words so you’ll be sure to understand, you wart faced buffoon. I have taken your looks and beauty from you, for too long you have relied on them to get what you need. Now you are both blind and marred and only your perfect ears are yours and yours alone. I left them so that every shriek of every child shall be yours to cherish. Every babe that weeps at your approach, every man that cries out, Pelor, what is that thing will echo in your perfect ears. I shall leave you in anguish, walling in freakish misery until you learn faith. Remember that staring at the sun can cause blindness of the eyes, relentless attention to the destruction of negative forces can blind the heart to the true essence of life: kindness, mercy, compassion. No, save your words, save your lies, you have not learned it yet, but you will, either that or you shall wallow in self pity for the remainder of your days.

“Khael did not die needlessly for he has opened the eyes of one who was blind to one that can see.

With that Pelor vanished and in the blink of her maimed eyes time came back to normal, in fact, it started up again in the exact second that the child had fallen. She could not see, but she did hear the screams of the city folk as they quickly gathered their children and ran into buildings, barring the doors and windows from the sight of the ghastly woman who had challenged the Gods and lost.

Deep with in his soul he heard a voice which reminded him of his promise. You owe me one million gold.

 

[DM-Rocco]

Session 20 module The Tomb of Horrors

Delvin closed her eyes as the wind blew through her hair and she reflected upon what had happened in her life leading to this point. After many years of traveling with her dearest friends they had inadvertently been wrapped up in a power struggle with the Slaver Lords and the merchant families along the coast of the Land Locked Sea. Then there was the trip to the Abyss, the journey to the Mausoleum of the Lost Gods and now the sojourn over the mountain wall through the Vast Swamp to find a hidden and long forgotten tomb belonging to a old and powerful wizard, and why would we go there, why to find something to help slay Vecna, the most powerful wizard/Demi-God in the realms, why else?

Of course, none of this compared to events in his most recent past, his brush with a God. His friend and dearest companion had died, a loyal servant of the God of Pelor, defender of the weak and bane to all undead, had died by the hands of a Dread Wraith. She shed a tear in memory of her friend but then her tears turned from sorrow to contempt to anger. Why had the light of Pelor failed his most trusty and divine agent of good? It was a question that she wanted the answer for, and question that she asked, and a question that she got answers for.

In the city of Kalistrad, Delvin had a brush with a God, and the mark of his presence still lingered with her to this day. She had been changed, from a proud youthful and strikingly beautiful woman into a horrid and putrid wench. Her eyes had been melted away from their sockets when she looked upon the back on the Avatar of Pelor and where the fluid from her eyes fell upon her cheeks, the fluid burnt into her skin, scaring her face, making her look older than she was and maiming her perfect features forever more. She had challenged the Gods and lost.

Following that day in the city square her and her companions drudged on. They re-supplied, more serious in intent and purpose this time, they made good on sparing no expense for the journey this time. In addition to the mass amount of supplies they purchased, they had bought trained Griffins to carry everything they needed, one for each of them; Delvin had names his Sir Beaks-O-Lot.

Brakka, a merchant Elven bow maker had decided to accompany them on this task, as did Rupert, a sneaky thief by trade, an Incantrix human sorceress named Andaria, a monk who called himself Nameless and a barbarian from the south land named Shump. Together with Delvin, the stone blind Divine Sentinel, Gren Karlson, Tomb Radier, Stonecracker Boulderwacker, the dwarves defender of Helm, and Oaklin, a half elf from Hawking who joined them on their merry quest to rid the world of Vecna they flew towards the legendary Tomb of Horrors, in search of a rumored object of power to aid them in this task.

Sir Breaks-O-Lot made a final dive, after three days of riding on the back of Sir Beaks-O-Lot, Delvin new what this meant, Sir Beaks-O-Lot was landing. She could hear the voices of the others, even though they could barely hear each other over the sounds of the winds. Her brush with a God had scarred her features, but he had improved her hearing to past the point of perfection. She could hear the sounds of a mouse’s heartbeat from half a mile away; she could easily her the party shouting over the wind. They were talking about a mound in the vastness of the swamp, which, in and of itself was not unusual, but this particular mound had a flat top, about 200 yards wide and 300 yards long. Only ugly weeds, thorns and briars grew on upon the steep slopes and the bald top of the 60 foot high mound. The basic description of the mound seemed not to differ to terribly from those of other mounds in the area, in fact, the other mounds looked the same as this with one notable exception, this mound had a series of black rocks upon the top of the hill and these black rocks formed from this height the shape of two eyes, a jagged nose and a row of teeth, forming a human skull.

Sir Beaks-O-Lot dipped to the right, making a long circular slow decent. It was obvious to Delvin that they were not only landing but they were doing so as to gain a view of all sides of this mound before they did. He could hear them discussing the north side of the mound, how the cliff seemed to crumble in the middle of the face. Then, Sir Breaks-O-Lot lurched upward for an instance has he came to a halt on the ground below.

“This has to be it,” said Oaklin, “The shape of the black rocks, that has to be the marker for the tomb, it has to be the marker for the entrance, those rocks could not have formed naturally.”

“That may be,” replied Gren as he too dismounted, “but if the enterance is in this mound, I suggest that we search for the warren ruin first.”

“What need you of warren ruins, they will tell you nothing,” bellowed Stonecracker Boulderwacker as he gave his trusty halberd Law-Bringer a good practice swipe through the air, “I have a debt to repay this wizard buried below and the sooner we get there the better I can kill him, again if need be.”

“I understand your frustrations, I too miss our holy friend Khael, his death has marred our heart with sorrow, but by finding the warren ruins we can unlock the secrets of those who built the tomb, a valuable insight to what may be with in.”

“I agree with the dwarf,” bellowed Shump’s opinion, “we should take the direct route and charge in.”

“Excuse me,” came the reply from Brakka, “I am unfairly with the warren ruins, what are they?”

As if asking a question that seemed obvious to everyone in attendance, they all gave him a helpless look of ignorance.

“Warren ruins,” began Gren in a patient and scholarly voice, “why every tomb has them because every tomb has those who either were paid handsomely to build the tomb or those who broke their backs in slave labor. It is the burial place for those that has lost their lives building such a place. Each warren ruin has information that the spirits of the dead know, and if you know how to ask the questions, they will give the answers. Even if no one dies, there is always a warren ruins. It starts out as a head quarters for those who build the tombs, and in this head quarters, if you will, they house all of the information of the tomb, from floor plans to traps meant to protect the resting spirits of the dead. When someone dies while building the tomb they bury their bodies under the warren ruins, to protect the secrets of the place from those who might try to find them, if no one dies, which only the dwarves nations has such a record, then the warren ruins are set with traps of their own.

“From time to time the warren ruins give false information, sometimes there are many different warren ruins, meant to fool and provide false information, but if you now what to look for and how to read the signs, you can tell much of the original tomb and those that are buried below.

“Well,” said Delvin as he dismounted from Sir Beaks-O-Lot, as the Nameless monk went to her aid, “I am in agreement that we should find the warren ruins, I want my revenge as well, but we must be better prepared. Khael would most likely be alive today if we had been more prepared.”

None of them could argue that point and a compromise was made, half of the party would break of from the rest and search the surrounding swamp lands for the warren ruins while the other half would try to find the entrance to the tomb itself. Delvin, being newly blind and wholly useless in searching, spent long hours trying to divine information from the Gods.

Hours turned into days and days into weeks. Half of the party sectioned off the hill itself into a grid and at first tried to just search with their eyes and hands, but the thorns and brush was to thick. It quickly became apparent that they needed a way to poke and prod through the thick brush. First they tried to bath the reign in balls of fire, but the heavy brush was to thick and wet to ever light for more than in instant before going out. Eventually they each grabbed a pole and searched the face of the mound one step at a time, poking the ground with the tip of the pole, feeling for anything that was amiss.

Gren had taken the rest of the party in an Arial surveillance with the aid of the griffins. Usually from a high distance you could get a better feel for the surrounding lands and the best location for a warren ruins. After exploring countless tombs, he had a really good idea where it should have been, but from this height, the thick cover of the swamp prohibited much of anything in the way of answers. They too eventually landed and broke into a grid like search pattern. The ground was boggy and slick, but not as hard to search as the mound, so they made a better effort of searching the surrounding lands than the rest of the party did the mound.

Today, one week after having landed at the base of the suspected tomb no one had gained any further insight as to where an entrance may be.

“Sorry to disturb you your holiness,” said the Nameless One as he entered the tent with a tray in his hands, “you have been in silent contemplation for hours now and I thought you might like some food and drink to replenish your strength.”

Delvin opened her eyelids, her hollow sockets penetrating the soul of the monk as he drew near. Since their arrival she had done what she could to help, but without the gift of sight her help was both the most limited and the most helpful. While she could not aid in searching in the physical sense, she could still cast spells. For the last weeks she had been scrying the planes and using every divination spell she knew to seek aid from other sources. Delvin rubbed the Ring of Pelor that fit snug around her neck, both a gift and a curse of Pelor, she had an artifact of one of the Gods, placed around her throat. At first she thought it a curse, a way for Pelor to watch his unwilling servant, to bondage her, to enslave her. In recent days however, she was starting to understand to true power of the Ring of Pelor, but much of it was hidden to her. What she could gather so far was that it increased her connection with her God, infusing her with the powers of Pelors Domains. Most Clerics have knowledge of one or two aspects of their Gods power, most commonly referred to as Domains. The Ring of Pelor seemed to be a direct link to Pelor himself, granting use of all of his Domains with out hindrance to limit. She had lost all of her arcane powers when Pelor had consumed her soul, but he granted her a small portion of her former talent in the way of the Magic Domain, in honor of her sacrifice. For the last week she had been trying to divine information that may prove useful, so far, nothing.

“How goes your divination pursuits,” Nameless One had said as he handed her a cup of tea.

“”Thank you,” she said as she fumbled for the tea, she had only been blind for two weeks now and she was still having trouble adjusting.

“I can not find anything so far,” she continued, “whether Pelor is trying to further teach me a lesson in humility or the fact that Vecna is continuing to interfere with divination spells is hard to say, but regardless, it is the same result, divinations are failing.”

“That is to bad, without another dedicated cleric in the party, you where our last hope for this type of information.”

“Yes, I do feel useless,” said Delvin, a hint of anger welling up to the surface of her emotions, “and thanks for twisting the knife in a bit deeper.”

“Delvin, I did not mean,”

“I don’t care what you mean,” she screamed at him and he tried to avert his eyes from her empty sockets.

* * *
​

“Damn it,“ Rupert cursed again as he pulled his finger from yet another thorn. One week of searching the side of the suspected tomb had lead to nothing so far other than thousands of tiny torn pricks and scratches. He grabbed his long ten foot pole and began to whack at the side of the thorny bush in wild frustration. In his haste he pricked himself yet again, but rather than stop and complain, he took his revenge on the thorny bush, until something unexpected happened, he had hit something solid.

“What’s this now,” he said as he tapped his pole on the surface below the thorns again. “Hey,” he shouted to Andaria, “I think I found something.”

Andaria turned from her work of prodding to look at the short and stealthy Rupert. He was flailing his arms about madly, but Andaria didn’t seemed so impressed. In the last week she had seen Rupert get excited many times, but there was never anything to show for it. Still, she made her way over to Rupert to see what it was this time.

“Andaria, I think I found the entrance to the Tomb,” he said, “I have hit upon something solid and hard, I know it is here, I just know it.”

“Stand back,” she said and he did. In the early days of the week Andaria had tried using balls of flames to burn away the thick brush from the side of the mound, but the brush was way to thick and wet to ignite and the flames did little more that warm the thorns. Now, however, whenever someone thought they had found an entrance, she would not waste time with balls of flame, no, she went right for the big guns, Disintegration spells.

“Duthfrate-calista,” she said in the spidery language of magic and a small cone of greenish-blue light emanated from her small hands. The cone covered a ten foot area and everything thing it touched disappeared, replaced with a fine dust. Underneath what was once thick thorn bushes she could make out the tiny ledge of a marble shelf

“Is that what I think it is,” said Shump as he approached from the top side of the brush.

“I believe it is,” replied Andaria as she traipsed over the fine dust left behind from the spell. Once to the ledge she angled another disintegration spell to her left, along what she thought might be the direction of the marble ledge. As the spell finished it path it cleared yet another ten feet of thick brush and thorny vines. She let loose another from right side to the same effect.

“Get the others,” she said, finally with a look of excitement in her eyes,

* * *
​

Gren finished casting another divination spell to no avail. One week of searching for the warren ruins had lead to bitter disappointment. It had never failed him in the past that he would find a warren ruins and he had looked in the usual places, but nothing.

“What if the this wizard Acererak had never built a warren ruins,” questioned Sir Darian. He leaned heavily upon a long spaded shovel, his body deprived of armor, the humidity of the swamp had forced him to abandon it for a simple cotton shirt, and that was wrapped around his waist, leaving his massive chest bare.

“It is possible, but in the history of tomb building, everyone had always left warren ruins. I think they are here somewhere, just hidden from our eyes right now.”

“You may be right, but I am giving up hope.”

“Gren!”

They both turned in the direction of the shouting. From the distance, they could make out the small form of Rupert running at them at full speed. They waited until he got near and then offered him a drink of water.

“My thanks, but let us make haste,” he said in between labored breathing and gulps of water, “we think we have found the entrance to the Tomb.

“Hold my hand,” he said to the two of them as he gathered his gear from the ground. As soon as the two of them had gathered their gear about them he closed his eyes and mouthed the words of a spell that would bend distance to his will, a Dimensional Door.

* * *
​

“Silence,” yelled the Nameless One as he reached for her and held her in his firm grip, “silence and listen, I will not pity you like the others do, what Pelor did to you was of your own doing, not ours and certainly not mine. If you wish to dwell in pity, then by all means feel free, we can go back to the streets of Kalistrad and dump you there. The city is full of those who would give into pity and sloth. If you chose to accept what you are and what you have become, then and only then can I aid you.”

Delvin paused a moment, she knew that he was right, from the moment of her loss she had been a pain to all those around her, blaming them for her choice.

“You are right,” she said after a long moment of silence, “it is not easy for me to admit it, but I did bring this curse down upon myself. Please forgive me.”

“There is nothing to forgive,” he said with a soft smile that she could not see. Then, he saw her head move the slightest bit and he spun on his heel to see who was behind him. He could hear the griffins in their bins squawking loudly as if something was disturbing them; then he saw her. She was stunning and statuesque and extraordinarily beautiful with flawless skin and raven hair. Her form, draped in a seer lace slip was tempting, from her tight and well formed legs to her firm and perky bare breast, she was tempting, too tempting. She walked into the tent like she had been here a million times, like she owned the tent, like she owned everything within.

The Nameless One stood transfixed by the sight of her, unable to move he was helpless before her as she bent in with her thick full lips and planted a gentle kiss on his lips. He felt a bit strange after the long slow kiss, but something inside his mind wanted another, something begged for it and he did not resist her when she pulled him closer. She kissed him again and he felt weak in the knees, his head began to spin but in the throws of passion he held her close and kissed her again.

“Lawbringer,” came a cry from behind the woman and a steak of silver narrowly missed the Nameless One’s neck. The blow however, did manage to sever the head of the strange woman, relieving the body of the burden of a head. The Nameless One stared blankly for a moment at the headless corpse in front of him and then at the shaking body of Delvin holding the dwarfs precious halberd clutched in both hands.

“What manner of beast was that,” exclaimed the Nameless One, “and how did you hit her, you could have hit me?

“That my friend is a Succubus, a agent of evil from the infinite layers of the Abyss,” she said “or I am a wart faced toad. As to how I could hit it, I could see her, as clear as you surely can see me I can see her, as if the blackness was a backdrop and the evil about her was all I could see, but in fine detail, a glowing object of evil in a world of darkness.”

“I,” he began, but she stopped him.

“Here,” she said as she handed him a potion, “drink this, it will cure what ails you.” She moved outside the tent, she could not see them, but she heard the sounds of the straps breaking and the poles cracking and the beating of wings as the griffins flew into the air. She knew that they would not be back, not anytime soon, evil was about and they would have no part of it.

In the distance she scanned the horizon where the others had told her the mound was. She had no need to guess, now in place of empty black she could clearly see the outline of the entrance to the tomb, a stark contrast to the blackness of emptiness.

“They do not know what they are doing,” she said, “they do not what they face.”

“I will warn them,” said the Nameless One as he closed his eyes to slip between the strands of time and space and slide across the dimensional barriers. He opened his eyes only to discover that he was right where he was a moment ago, not his intended destination of the base of the mound. He closed his eyes again and tired it again.

“What are you doing,” she cried but it was already to late. In the distance she could see a portal rip open in the sky and a large grotesque creature that seemed a blend of an ape and a corpulent boar. It stood on its hind legs, rising more than three times the height of a human. It stretched a pair of feathered wings that seemed ridiculously small compared to the rest of the body. She turned her gaze back towards the direction that Gren and the others had been searching for the warren ruins only to see a creature appear in the sky above, glowing in the bright light of evil. It looked like a cross between a large human and a huge vulture. It had strong sinewy limbs that was covered in small gray feathers, a long neck with a vulture head and a set of vast feathered wings.

“You tried to take an Abundant Step didn’t you?”

“Yes, but it doesn’t seem to have any effect.”

“That is where you are wrong,” she said as she tightly clutched the mighty blade Lawbringer in her hands. The blade grew hot to the touch and then it began to fade, and then it was gone.

* * *
​

“Don’t do it Andaria,” warned Shump.

“You worry to much Shump,” she said, “It is only a quick peek, what can that hurt,” and with that she finished her spell to make herself ethereal. She wanted to take a peek inside while the others came, she hated living in Gren’s shadow, this time she would prove that she was better than Gren, she would be a step ahead of him. She swayed as if trying to move in a way foreign to her body and then caught herself, nothing.

“What,” she said confused, “I don’t understand, why didn’t it wor…,”

Shump looked at Andria as she stopped in mid sentence. She was fiddling with her cloths. She moved a bag of components around and Shump could see it, a long thin metal blade had protruded from the right side of her waist. She reached to grab it and another blade exploded from the left side of her waist, pools of blood forming on her soft silk robes. Her body jerked and she instinctively reached for the other blade. Then one and then another thick straight blades burst through bone and muscle, ripping two large gashes in her chest. She tried to scream but another blade burst through her lung and then she felt a slight pressure against her neck and her head began to spin violently. She could not tell which way was up and which way was down. Finally the spinning stopped, but she was rapidly growing tired, her eye lips felt very heavy, blackness was taking her. In the dimming vision she could make out a headless body dressed in silk robes with five gleaming blades protruding from its body. She had a terrible sinking feeling as she realized that it was her body she was staring at and before she could think another thought, she slipped into oblivion.

* * *
​

The creature let out a wailing bellow that shook Gren to his bones. He could see the creature making a final decent towards him but their was nothing he could do, he was paralyzed with fear. He watched as the creature landed in front of him, he recognized the creature from his previous visit to the Abyss, this was a Vrock, a large vultures looking creature. He watched as it emitted spores from its body. He was helpless to watch the spores dig into his skin and as the vines grew in place of spores, he just hoped it would be quick and painless, but he knew of these creatures, it would not be swift or painless.

Four arrows pierced his thick flesh and the Vrock screamed in pain. He turned to this new threat and as he did four images of the demon appeared in front of Gren. This was one of its few defensive spells. A moment later Gren could make out the flash of an arrow as it wiped past him. The arrow exploded in the air between the demon and Gren. Gren, finally able to break free of the wailing grasp and the snake vine spores, managed to dodge out of the way at the last moment, but the Creature was not so lucky. The arrow struck him in the head and then burst into flames, melting a part of the demons face. He flapped his wings in the air a flew away, but another arrow hit the demon in the wing and again the creature cried out in pain as the arrow again burst into flames. The demon, unable to maintain flight, crashed upon the swamp bed.

* * *
​

Shump watched helpless as Andaria had sword after sword after sword after sword after sword after sword pierce her flesh. He felt sick as her head rolled from her shoulders and he almost passed out as the six gleaming swords all went into different directions and he watched Andaria’s helpless body get rended to shreds.

From behind the fallen body of Andaria came the otherworldly form of an attractive female human with six arms and a long snake like body tipped with a tail. Her height varied depending on how much of her reptilian body she chose to use to stand on. An unholy aura surrounded her and with but a thought she sent the approaching Oaklin flying through the air with some unseen force. He landed end over end along the side of the thorny bushes of the mound, finally coming to rest entangled in a mass of thick brush and thorn vines. She stared at Shump and then lashed out at the dazed man with her mighty tail, It coiled around him tightly and began to constrict very tight. She paused a moment to lick the blades clean of Andaria’s blood and then slithered towards Shump.

* * *
​

Gren stood over the body of the nearly dead Vrock, with a quick motion he untangle his mass of chains from around his waist and struck the beast with three decisive blows. The creature screamed a final time and then died. Gren began to wipe off the vines that had grown in the skin where the spore had hit him, they caused pain in every movement and he wanted the pain to end. He almost had the last of them removed when he felt a racking scrap across his back. Two powerful claws dug in deep down his spine. He spun on his good foot to confront the demon but the demon was quicker and he let loose a mighty roar and cold cocked the unsuspecting Gren, causing him to go flying through the air.

* * *
​

Shrump struggled to free himself from the constricting tail of the Marilith, but even placing himself in a frenzied rage failed to grant him the strength to break its grasp. She pulled him closer, dragging him to her, six wicked blades gleaming in the moon light. The coils continued to constrict with each breath he took, every draw of air brought pain and every exhale brought a further constriction. He anger and rage welled up inside of him, he felt a bit stronger, but it was a fleeting strength, he knew, since he was about to pass out. He could see her draw the blades high, ready to strike him down, then it happened.

“Lawbringer,” he heard Stonecracker Boulderwacker cry and from behind the Marilith he could see the glowing might of the dwarf’s mighty weapon. The blade cut through one weapon after another, breaking each with a strong show of force as if the weapons of the Marilith were made out of paper. The blade hummed in anger and in came the dwarf in wild abandon and in a few moments it was over and the dwarf was quietly whistling to himself as he tied a second Marilith head to his belt.

“That makes two,” he simply said matter-of-factly.

* * *
​

The Nalfeshnee swung his ape like arms into the air and crashed down hard upon Gren’s exposed back. He felt his ribs crack and break and he tasted his own blood as it freely flowed from many wounds, both internal and external. He tried to stand to get away, but the demon was on him every moment. Sir Darian came in strong with his massive clamor, slicing a few minor wounds on the beast, but the blade over all seemed to have very little effect on him.

The Nalfeshnee jumped into the air, meaning to bring down the full force of its 8,000 pounds of blubbery body weight to crush the remaining life force of Gren. White light shot through the air and impacted everything for hundreds of feet in every direction. When it touched the Nalfesnee his body sizzled with the holy energy and then the light attempted to vanished the Nalfesnee from the prime material plane in an explosion of white light, but its resistance to spells caused the effect to fail and the Nalfesnee came crashing down hard on the exposed backside of Gran.

Delvin emerged from the misty night to cast another holy word at the demon but it too did not seem to affect him. The Nalfesnee lost interest in the unconscious form of Gren. The Nalfesnee let out a wild yell as he charged down on the helpless Delvin and he was almost upon him when a lone figure came flying out of no where to smash his fist into the chest of the demon who fell back and staggered. The nameless One stood up from the ground and stared at the demon as it struggled to stand itself. It made a long echoing bellow and charged forward. The Nameless One stood his ground and simple waved his hand in a series of small vibrations. The Nalfesnee staggered for a moment and then collapsed in a heap upon the ground, dead.

Delvin stepped into view and ran to the sounds of Gren’s labored breathing. She bent low and cast a spell of healing upon him. Instantly he could feel the bones in his chest begin to reform and mend.

They all made their way to the mound after that to count the loses. The griffins were gone and Andaria had died, they needed to make a descion, they needed to determine if they would leave and live or stay and die.

* * *
​

In a far reaching plane, deeper than the infinite layers of the Abyss and further than the Nine Hells, in a realm unknown to even the wisest sages and seldom known to any, including many of the Gods, Acererack’s corporeal body roamed, gathering knowledge that only he would find useful. Eons had passed on the prime Material Plane and seldom did he ever need to return to his Tomb of Horrors. In ages past he had been a User of Magic and a dedicated Cleric to demons of the Abyss and when even his long life span of his demon bloodline brought about the end of his days as a mere mortal, he sought to extend his life by making himself a Lich, a Wizard of incredible power that can defy death by becoming undead.

Over the score of years that followed he continued his pursuit for power, he even allied himself with Vecna and Arrazznecronakk, one a very powerful lich like himself and the other a simple human who had achieved the divine blessing of becoming a Demi-God. The former had been kicked out of the heavens and then sought power from the hells. Eventually Arrazznecronakk was over throne by a band of Heros and Vecna was betrayed by his own lieutenant. Acererack withdrew into the Vast Swamp and sheltered himself in his keep, which was built over the Tomb of his burial. There the lich dwelled with hoards of ghastly servants in the gloomy stone halls of the very hill where the tomb is today. Eventually even the undead life force of Acererack began to wane, so for the next eight decades the lich’s servants labored to create the Tomb of Horrors. Then Acererack destroyed all of his slaves and servitors, magically hid the entrance to his halls and went to his final haunt while his soul was free to roam strange and unknown planes.

While gathering a bit of important knowledge he had been seeking for a century now, he paused, something had distracted him. The fail safes for his tomb had been broken, someone had found the entrance, something that had not happened in many years, something that delighted him. He smiled to himself, and then reflected on the last time he had smiled, it had been a long time indeed, but no need to return to the tomb just yet, they had only found the entrance to the tomb, which meant that they were smart and resourceful. That proved nothing. He needed smart and resourceful, but he also needed powerful and they could have been luck in finding the tomb. Time will tell he had a need to return to the tomb, but for now, a strange new plane of power called him to attention and he had no need to waste any more time with his intruders just yet.

The tomb would take care of them.

 

[the Jester]

Good stuff!

Can we get a list of the party class/race/level/alignments?

 

[DM-Rocco]

I eluded to this in the main text, but here is a more detailed list. I don't have the characters in front of me, but from what I recall, here it is:
Brakka- a neutral elven 6 wizard/7 arcane archer

Rupert- a neutral evil human 6 rogue/7 assassin (he has a ring of non detection on to hide his alignment from the paladin in the party)

Andaria neutral good human 6sorceress/7Incantrix

The Nameless One-A lawful Good 15 level monk with a vow of poverty from the exalted deeds book

Sir Darian human Lawful good 13 level paladin
Shump- A half-orc 6 barbarian/7 frenzied berserker

Gren Karlson, human 5 rogue/9 Tomb Radier (house class, started as a replacement for the rogue class with no sneak attack but you got limited spells and 10 skills a level instead of 8, then became a prestige class with similar abilities, but you now also get mad bonuses for knowledge based skills)

Stonecracker Boulderwacker- a lawful good dwarf 7 paladin/7dwarven defender

Lawbringer- Stonecrackers trusted Intelligent modified halberd, it has three heads, one, an axe head for slashing, the back of the axe head is a hammer to blunt damage and the tip can do piercing.

Oaklin, a half elf from Hawking rather not say the rest, he a an NPC

Delvin Silversmith, who at some time became Devin and now that he has fallen prey to a girdle of opposite sex, he/she is now Devina (which I had not added to the story yet, but to his complaining, look for it soon) he is Lawful good (although he doesn’t always act it) Stone blind (From defying the Gods) he started out a war wizard, but he didn’t like it and he wanted to change to a straight sorcerer, since we were only a couple of sessions into it and he had a history with the character I allowed it. Then, when he defied Pelor, the god rebuilt him from the inside out granting him 10 levels of Divine Sentinel and 5 levels of Divine Servant (both house classes)

 

[DM-Rocco]

In between moving and trying to see if I can write something for the Eberron writing contest, I won't be able to write on this thread until September.