STORMING THE CITADEL
“I have an idea,” Faust said to his companions as they stood at the bridgehead, the watchful eyes of the Tiamikal Nul-Shada guards upon them. Giovanni and Grubber had rejoined them after a fruitless search of the undercity. Hawk rolled his eyes at the psion’s declaration.
“Trust me,” Faust said smiling, earning him a second eye-roll from the civilar. “It’s brilliant in its simplicity really. You see, I shall create an Ethereal Agent, sort of like an animate scrying sensor. I can send it into the citadel to scout about, all the while allowing me to see through its eyes. It will be silent, and invisible. No one will even know it’s there.”
“Famous last words,” Hawk snorted, “but I suppose it’s worth a try if our only other option is to charge in and kill everything in sight.”
“While that would be infinitely more entertaining,” the psion mused, “I believe we should be more circumspect while we can. Now, stand back while I work.” With that, he produced a small crystal orb from his belt, and held it before his eyes, concentrating. After a moment, the crystal flashed briefly, and for the merest second, the hulking outline of a bipedal creature stood before the group before vanishing from view. Faust experienced an instant of disorientation as he found himself looking back on himself and the others through the eyes of the agent. On his silent command, it turned and walked slowly up to the giants, and then past them before stepping through the outer gates.
Inside the massive doors, the agent made its way deliberately down the single corridor, scanning the walls, ceiling and floor for any sign of other doorways, hidden or otherwise. When it reached the second set of double doors, it stepped through them as well, finding itself in an empty, round chamber. Two alcoves branched from the room, but each one simply doubled back on itself before reaching a dead-end. Returning to the main chamber, the agent scanned about carefully, but ultimately found no other means of egress.
Outside, Faust cursed under his breath. He knew there was probably some hidden exit that he was unable to see. There was nothing for it but to start searching systematically. But first, he knew that the citadel itself was built upon a large pillar of rock. He wondered if that rock was solid, or if there might be a dungeon…or a vault…hidden beneath. Concentrating once more, he willed his agent to pass straight down through the chamber’s floor.
Down the agent traveled, moving through dark stone as if it were air. Abruptly, it found itself in an open space once more. It was an empty hallway. Behind it, a stairway wound up into darkness, while ahead, a large door stood closed on the right, with a descending stair on the same wall just beyond it. At the far end of the hall, a second door stood slightly ajar.
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Alakora was fuming. She had heard the sounds of battle above several minutes ago, but nothing since. She was unsure if the citadel had been breached, not that she particularly cared. Juroth had instructed her to guard this particular area, and nothing more. Let the others die as far as she was concerned. Ordinarily, this would be a relatively easy task. She would simply transform herself into a tiny spider and wait, crouched near the ceiling in the corridor beyond her room. Then, when and if intruders made their appearance, she would decimate them with her magic, all the while concealed from view. That was until the very nature of magic had changed. Now, she found that when she assumed her arachnid form, all of her innate powers left her. She was nothing more than a spider, albeit a particularly tough one. Therefore, she was forced instead to lie in wait like some common sneak, peering through her cracked door, looking for trespassers. She was just on the verge of giving up and going back to her musings when she saw the ethereal creature appear. The marilith’s eyes could see into the border plane, and the agent was plainly visible to her.
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The agent was just moving towards the far door, when suddenly a whirlwind or whirring, flashing blades appeared out of thin air. The blade barrier was constructed of pure force, and as such, it could pierce the fragile barrier between the prime and the ethereal. In an instant, the agent was torn to pieces.
“Whoa!” Faust said, lurching back, his hands coming up reflexively to ward off the slashing blades. It took him a moment to realize what had happened, and that he was in no danger. “We’ve been made,” he said flatly, and then told his friends what had happened.
“So what now?” Giovanni asked. “It will only be a matter of minutes before the whole place is on alert!”
“Which is why we have to act fast,” Faust replied. “I’m sending another agent in. This time I won’t have it delay in that hall, in case the blade barrier was some sort of trap it sprang. I’m sending it all the way down to see if it can find the vault. If it can, then I can take us directly there before the giants can mobilize their defenses.”
Eyeing the fire giants carefully, the psion brought out a second crystal. When he was reasonably sure that the Tiamikal Nul-Shada had not yet been alarmed, he summoned his agent. This time, the scry practically ran into the citadel, heading directly for the circular chamber. Once there, it too descended through the floor, only not stopping as it passed through the now empty dungeon corridor. It traveled through several more yards of stone until it found itself in an empty stairwell. Behind, the stair wound up, while before, it descended further into darkness. From above, Faust commanded the agent to proceed down the stairs.
The stairs descended into an oddly shaped room with a ceiling vaulting forty feet overhead. Great, stone double doors exited to the northeast. They were carved in a detailed bas-relief depicting a human form trapped in a trapezohedral shape. All around this form writhed dozens of carved worms. A strange, pale golden shimmering seemed to dance at times over the doors. Set into the center of each one was a single, small keyhole. Standing to either side of the doors was what at first appeared to be a large humanoid statue, but on closer inspection, Faust knew this was merely a façade. The massive creatures had iron gray skin that looked as dry and weathered as a desert peak. Their heads were hairless with sunken, glassy eyes and craggy features, seemingly carved from granite. Their skin receded at their mouths and fingers, revealing blunt gray teeth and long, curving nails.
“This looks like the place,” Faust muttered. “Now, let’s see what’s behind door number one.” Since the giant guardians seemed to have taken no notice of his agent, he now commanded it to go forward and through the carved doors, but as soon as the scry attempted it, it found the way barred.
“Thought so,” Faust said, mostly to himself. “That would have been too easy.” Seeing that there was no other way to go, the psion ordered the agent back up the stairs. Once at the top, Faust realized the agent had returned to the hall where his first minion had been destroyed. Cautiously, he had the scry creep forward, bringing the cracked door into the range of its Blindsight. There, on the far side of the portal, lurked a creature that seemed to be a lovely woman from the waist up, save for her six arms, each wielding a cruelly barbed scimitar. From the waist down, however, her body was that of a giant serpent. It was a marilith, a powerful demon from the lower planes! Quickly, before it was spotted, Faust had the agent dart through the near door. Beyond was a large chamber that seemed to be a combination of bedroom and study. Against the far wall lay numerous furs and cushions heaped in a haphazard nest. The walls were covered with strange runes and markings, and a large stack of oversized books lay on a cluttered desk to the north. Flipping through these books at a rapid pace was a frost giant. He was dressed in robes and a heavy, fur cloak, and he had a large warmace propped against the wall next to him. Just then, the door burst open, revealing the angry visage of the marilith on the other side. The giant never even looked up. Quickly, Faust commanded the agent through the nearest wall. As it stepped through, it found itself in the stairwell once more, but not far enough down to conceal it from the marilith’s view. Again Faust sent the scry into the wall, but this time it emerged into a chamber that was rough-hewn from the rock. A single fissure in the far wall acted as a narrow window, allowing in light and fresh air. Every inch of the floor was covered with exotic-looking rugs, and silken hangings covered much of the walls. A bed of cushions lay near one wall, and a low, wooden table, silvery and cracked from age, rested near the opposite wall, also surrounded by cushions. The far corner of the room held what appeared to be a crudely carved stone idol. Unfortunately, the door to this chamber was open, and the marilith in the hall beyond had a clear view inside. In an instant she created another blade barrier, and Faust’s point of view was suddenly cut short.
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“Tor!” Alakora shouted again at the giant sorcerer. “I know you can hear me!” Still he ignored her, so focused was he on his books. Finally, she spoke directly into his mind, causing as much pain as possible. With a snarl, the frost giant grabbed his head and turned savagely on her.
“What? Why do you disturb my research?”
“Because, you fool,” the marilith hissed, “in case you haven’t noticed, we are under attack! Two spies I have dispatched already. It is a certainty that whoever sent them will come to investigate in person shortly. I suggest you prepare yourself!” With that, she slithered out of the room and back into the corridor, taking up a position where she could see both stairwells, as well as her own room and that of Vercinabex Tor. The frost giant cursed vividly, enraged at the inconvenience. He knew that he was on the verge of discovering the answer to the riddle. He just needed a bit more time! Still, if invaders were truly coming, he’d best be ready. They were going to pay for interrupting his work!
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“That’s it,” Faust said. “It’s now or never. They definitely will know we’re here now. We’re going in thirty seconds, ready or not!” Quickly, his companions set about readying their defenses, preparing for the coming battle. Just before the psion gathered them all about him, Giovanni read from one of his many scrolls, again transforming his body to ghost-like incorporeality.
“Three…two…one…” Faust finished, and then took them all into the astral plane.
When they reemerged a moment later, they found themselves standing in the far corner of the frost giant’s chamber. The giant seemed momentarily taken aback at their sudden appearance. It was all the time Havok needed. Drawing another scroll from his belt, he read its contents aloud, and as the last word left his mouth, time stood still…for everyone except himself, that was. All around him, friends and foe alike were frozen in time. Quickly, knowing the effect was of extremely limited duration, the warlock went to work. First, he read another scroll, this time bringing into being a bank of viscous, semi-solid fog that surrounded the frost giant. Then, he criss-crossed the area where he knew the giant to be with three walls of the emerald, writhing flames that were now in his power to create. A moment later, the flow of time resumed.
The screams of Vercinabex Tor reverberated from the walls with ear-splitting intensity. The giant flailed about, desperately trying to douse the flames that surrounded him, while at the same time trying to move away from them. Unfortunately, pushing through the gelid mists that engulfed him were like trying to walk through quicksand. Suddenly, a roaring column of white-hot fire erupted from the ceiling, burning Tor with not only heat, but pure, holy power. This was followed immediately by an explosive ball of energy that seemed part acid and part electricity. Maddened with pain, the frost giant stumbled blindly through the misty quagmire, taking no notice of the shadowy figure that lurked just on the edge of the fog bank. Hawk watched the sorcerer approach, waiting for just the right moment to strike. Fortunately, Havok’s ploy, coupled with the spells of Mak and Storm, made his job easy. One thrust to the heart ended the giant, and he fell slowly, almost languidly through the fog, collapsing to the floor.
Alakora felt her mental link with Tor go blank at the same time that his screams were silenced. She should have known the fool would be useless, so obsessed was he over his research. If she were to have any hope of defeating these invaders, she was going to need more capable assistance. Concentrating, she used her mind to open a conduit back to her abyssal home. “Ak’Nok,” she called seductively, whispering the nalfeshnee’s name. “Come to me.” She felt the demon’s attention turn towards here…and also felt his contempt. “Not today Alakora,” he burbled, laughing. “I warned you not to bargain with the giant priest. Now you try to draw me into your folly! I wish you well, but I fear that I will be seeing you sooner rather than later. I’ve always wondered what you would look like as a lemure.” The marilith screamed in rage at the rebuff. The oaf had best pray to whatever duke he served that she did not return to the Abyss. She would flay the flesh from his bones, and then heal him just so she could do it again.
At that moment the ghostly, invisible form of Havok stepped through the wall right next to Alakora, but her acute sight saw him immediately for what he was. The warlock seemed momentarily surprised to see her, but he recovered quickly. A powerful blast of emerald energy pulsed from his hand, rocking the marilith with its impact. A moment later he disappeared into the floor. Alakora knew that the ethereal human could reappear at any moment, so she scuttled quickly back towards her chamber to a more defensible position. As she passed the door to Tor’s room, she saw the roiling fog inside. Quickly, she conjured another blade wall just inside the room, blocking the exit and, with any luck, slashing several of her enemies into bloody ribbons.
Within the room, Grubber and Storm did indeed find themselves within the whirling blades, but thanks to a defensive spell placed upon them, granting them a degree of immunity to hostile magic, they remained unscathed by the barrage. Grubber uttered another prayer, wreathing his hand in silvery light. If that light touched a creature not of the Prime, it might very well banish it back to its home plane.
“Mak, follow me!” he called to his brother, and then moved through the door. Mak came behind, the blade barrier passing harmlessly through him as well. As he emerged into the hall, he saw Grubber reach out and touch the marilith…and nothing happened. The demon was too powerful. Hefting his sword, Mak rushed to his brother’s side, but one of the marilith’s slashing scimitars grazed him when he got too close.
Hawk saw the goliath brothers leave the frost giant’s chamber, and he rushed quickly after them. However, as he passed through the wall of blades, his flesh was sliced by a hundred small cuts. Ignoring the wounds, the civilar pressed on. Just then, Havok reappeared from the corridor floor. He saw that the marilith was cornered, and instinctively, he sensed that she was about to bring her magic to bear. At the precise moment that Alakora began concentrating, the warlock struck. As the eldritch blast hit her, the marilith lost her focus, ruining her attempt at escape via teleportation. Hissing at the still-intangible warlock, she slid quickly through the door to her room, and slammed it shut behind her. Immediately, she felt her assailants battering at it from the other side, and for a moment, she managed to hold it shut, but then it was smashed inward by the human with the shield and glowing blade. Alakora was flung back, and then buffeted again by another blast from the warlock. As she recovered her balance, the smaller goliath suddenly appeared behind her, using magic she had never seen before. She turned to defend herself, but it was too late. Grubber’s maul crushed her skull with one mighty blow.
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Faust quickly scanned the books and ledgers that lay scattered on Tor’s desk. Most of the writing was nonsensical rambling, but several passages mentioned “the Vault,” and a “Ritual of Opening.” It seemed the frost giant was looking for a way to enter the citadel’s vault, and was foiled by exactly how that might be done.
“They don’t even know what it is that they’re guarding,” Faust said, half to himself.
“How can that be?” Hawk demanded. “Didn’t the druids charge them with the phylactery’s safe keeping?”
“They charged giants with it,” Faust replied, “but not necessarily these giants. Perhaps the guardianship was simply passed from generation to generation, until at last it was the duty itself that remained sacred, not the actual item being tended. The Order of the Storm intended for Dragotha to never find the phylactery, and that is why they erased the knowledge of it from memory, but now that the Library of Last Resort has been opened, that knowledge has returned. We must find a way to penetrate the vault, and quickly, before the dracolich’s minions beat us to it.”
The company regrouped, and descended the stairway to the level below. They entered the chamber that Faust had seen through the eyes of his agent, and found it just as before. The guardians remained immobile, though their eyes fixed upon the group as soon as they appeared.
“Perhaps they are some sort of test,” Mak whispered to his companions. “The Ritual may involve finding the way past them.” The others shrugged, having no better suggestion to offer. The goliath stepped forward several feet and called out, “We seek to open the vault! I command you to open it for us, or stand aside!” The giants were silent, and impassive.
‘Master,’ Havok’s ensorcelled armor whispered in his mind, ‘they do not live.’
“They’re undead,” the warlock relayed to his friends.
“Well, that answers that then,” Faust said, clapping his hands together, and then pointing his index fingers at the vault doors. A thin, green beam of light shot from them, striking the portals. For a moment, the golden light that danced upon their surface flared, but when it faded they remained unscratched. At that moment, however, the undead guardians lurched into motion. As they approached, Havok quickly wove a chain of vitriolic power between them, searing their dry flesh, but on they came. Hawk stepped in front of the nearest, slashing at its legs and abdomen with Quaero. Then the brute was upon him. Head down, it trampled over the civilar and Grubber, rushing past them to their comrades still in the stairwell. On its heels came the second, it too bowling over Hawk and Grubber as if they were toys. From the relative cover offered by the stair, Havok brought a wall of his worm-like flames up from the floor of the chamber, catching both guardians in its wake. Grubber quickly regained his feet on the other side of the first giant, and slammed his hammer into its spine. He felt it crack like a dry twig, and soundlessly, the guardian sagged to the floor. Whirling about, he saw the second brute lining up for another run. A ball of fire, courtesy of Storm, momentarily stalled its charge, but not for long. It ran forward again, but as it came, Hawk and Grubber both struck at its knees. As it fell heavily, the civilar and goliath attacked again, and it joined its fellow, returning to the dust from which it came.
Cautiously, the rest of the party filed into the chamber, slowly approaching the massive vault doors. On closer inspection, more details of the carvings upon them became apparent. Depicted in the scene on the left-hand door were hundreds of stone giants locked in mortal combat with horrific worm-covered undead of all shapes and sizes. The giants appeared to be taking the worst of it. Overshadowing all was a massive monolith upon which stood a huge figure of grotesque proportions with writhing worms all over its body…Kyuss! A circle of a dozen small figures stood before the monolith enacting some ritual. The right-hand door focused in on the ritual of the small figures, members of the Order of the Storm. They were gathered in a circle on a ledge overlooking a cliff, obviously protecting something in their midst. Crawling and clambering up over the ledge were dozens of skeletal undead, and rearing up in the background was an immense bony worm-like creature. Between the undead and the druids stood a group of brave heroes, single-handedly holding off the advancing undead. There was no mistaking who the heroes were.
“It wasn’t a dream,” Grubber breathed. Suddenly, a ghostly form shimmered and rose from the surface of the doors. The figure was that of a short humanoid, and it had a strange look upon its face, a combination of fear and excitement. His head lolled on a broken neck, and his fingers ended in long tendrils of ectoplasm that looked almost like claws. Grubber recognized him immediately. It was Alastor Land.
“Well met, friends,” the spirit of the dead farm boy said, “Long have our journeys been since our last meeting. You have come far in your quest to stop the abomination that rises even as we speak, and I have been down long roads in other worlds learning who and what I am. And now, here at this juncture, our paths cross again. Oh I know most of you think you do not know me, for your spirits wore other guises when last we met, but search your souls and all will be made clear. As you have doubtless learned, an age ago the Wind Dukes of Calim fought a great battle against the Army of Fire. The great pasha Memnon was imprisoned, Kossuth’s influence waned, and the Scepter of Calim was broken into seven parts and scattered across the cosmos. Tombs were built to inter the honored dead, but the Wind Dukes did not abandon the field of battle entirely. Certain guardians were left behind to watch and wait for the reemergence of the Army of Fire. One of these guardians was an order of mortal druids. The Wind Dukes taught these druids their secrets, and when the Dukes were ultimately bound into the Calimemnon Crystal, this order grew powerful. They became the Order of the Storm, and they defeated Kyuss nearly fifteen centuries ago. Kyuss was banished, locked away in a stony prison, but now he threatens once again.
Over long years, the secret watchers joined with the cultures around them. These guardians forgot their cause, and traditions were abandoned. My family, the Land family, named for their sacred attachment to the hallowed grounds of the Wind Dukes, were among the last of these watchers. Though the blood of the Wind Dukes ran thin in my veins, it still called to me and allowed me access to the tomb of Zosiel until my destiny was fulfilled and I fell to a trap. Likewise, your coming to the Whispering Cairn was no accident. I can smell the mark of the Wind Dukes within you, heroes. You may be the last of a long line, the only surviving heirs to the Wind Duke legacy.” His eyes lingered upon Hawk, and the aasimar felt a tingle of memory pulling at the back of his mind. “As such,” Alastor continued, “I have come to advise you one more time.
Kyuss’ strength lies in his prison. When he became a god, he became trapped in the focus of his divine apotheosis…a massive monolith of stone affixed to the peak of the Spire of Long Shadows. Dragotha stole this monolith long ago and brought it to his lair in Skull Gorge. Over the centuries, the presence of Kyuss’ monolith transformed this portion of the canyon into what is known today as the Wormcrawl Fissure. Once, after Dragotha was murdered by the Chromatic Dragon and returned to unlife by the Wormgod, Kyuss managed to escape his prison. With Dragotha as the general of his undead armies, the Wormgod rose from the Fissure and attempted to begin the Age of Worms, but the Order of the Storm was ready.
You know of this battle. And now you know that in the room beyond lies Dragotha’s phylactery. Yet to reach it, you must look into your memories, your souls. Find the ritual of opening, and use the vault keys. Yet know also that once these doors open, the phylactery vault will be open to all. Dragotha and his minions will smell his phylactery and they shall come to claim it. You must be quick. If you destroy the phylactery, Dragotha can be truly slain, but as his life-force escapes, he may be able to reclaim some of it from the beyond…destroying the phylactery may make him more dangerous than ever before. Yet I see little choice.
I must go now. You shall not see me again, I think, until you join me on the other side. Good luck, my friends, and farewell…” With that, a smile crossed the ghost’s lips and he simply faded away.
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