Wish said:
Oh, we want to read. We definitely want to read. It's just cruel, however, for you to post to your storyhour thread when it's not an update. I see "JollyDoc" as the author of the most recent addition to the thread and I start twitching with anticipation.
I propose that you use a psuedonym for your psuedonym when posting non-update comments.
Twitch no more, my friend....
UNIFICATION
It was the work of only a few moments for Havok, still in his ghostly form, to track down the errant devourer servant of Filge, and dispatch the creature with a few well placed walls of perilous flames. Afterwards, he gathered with the others in the liche’s lab. Faust was closely examining the large vat of protolife. After a moment, he stepped back, ordering the others to do the same. Concentrating, he sent of mental shard of purest crystal lancing towards the container. It bounced off and dissipated, leaving not a mark in its wake. Faust tilted his head quizzically.
“Hawk, Mak,” he said, “if the two of you would be so kind and smash the glass for me.”
The pair looked at him dubiously, but stepped forward nonetheless. Standing on opposite sides, they each swung their blades with all the power they could muster. Both swords were nearly jarred out of their wielder’s hand at the impact. The vat was unharmed.
“Just as I thought,” Faust nodded. “Force effect. Stand clear everyone!”
Once more, the others withdrew a respectful distance as the psion loosed a pale green disintegration ray. As soon as it struck, the walls of the container vanished, leaving the churning pillar of goo momentarily suspended in mid-air. Then it began to collapse on itself, but as it did, it seemed to coalesce and change shape before their eyes. In the space between one heartbeat and the next, the protolife had transformed into another thessalhydra, standing right in the middle of the cramped laboratory. It roared in rage, its bellow near deafening in the confined quarters.
Sensing danger the moment the protolife was released, Havok was the first to act. An eldritch blast of emerald energy lanced from his hand and struck the hydra, and then the warlock quickly flew up to the ceiling and through it. He knew his own limitations, and close-quarter melee was among the top three.
Grubber was far more pragmatic. Remembering what had happened the last time he’d stood toe-to-toe with one of the hydras, he spoke the words to a prayer, and wove a protective ward around himself, Mak and Hawk, shielding them from the creature’s acidic spittle.
Faust rolled his eyes. “I don’t know what all the concern is about,” he sneered as he sent a whip-like tendril of mental energy at the hydra. He was genuinely surprised when, unlike its brother, the hydra did not curl into a fetal, whimpering ball.
“Um…perhaps I spoke to soon,” he mumbled.
At that moment, a gurgling sound emanated from the thessalhydra’s central mouth, and a wad of viscous sputum was coughed up, splattering Hawk and Mak. The civilar and goliath nodded their thanks to Grubber as the vitriolic slime rolled harmlessly off of them. The duo then closed on the brute, Mak’s sword slashing into its thick hide. The wound, however, began to close almost immediately. As the goliath started to retreat a step, one of the hydra’s snake-like heads lashed out, sinking its fangs into his arm.
At that moment, Havok reappeared in one of the small guard rooms adjacent to the lab. From there he had a good view of the battle, yet still at a safe distance. Lifting his hands, he raised a wall of worm-ridden flames through the hydra’s flank, well away from his companions. The hydra roared again as the eldritch fire began searing its flesh. Hawk seized the momentary distraction to strike, Quaero a blur of motion as it thrust and stabbed again and again, severing one of the hydra’s heads completely. Mak struck simultaneously, landing two staggering blows with his bastard sword.
“Wait!” Faust cried, as he rushed towards the critically wounded behemoth. “Don’t kill it! Let me assimilate it!” Just as he closed within range of the pain-maddened beast, however, another of its heads lashed out at him, seizing him in its jaws and then dropping him straight into the gaping central maw and down the thessalhydra’s gullet.
“Sorry old friend,” Havok smiled. “Maybe next time.” He loosed one last eldritch blast, and the hydra collapsed, liquefying once more into inert protolife, leaving Faust lying on the floor, drenched in reeking slime.
No sooner had the hydra vanished, than Giovanni suddenly felt a presence in his mind. It spoke to him of rage and bloody revenge. It thirsted for retribution against the one that had imprisoned it…Dragotha.
“I think we found what we were seeking,” the warlock said to his companions. “Can you feel it Faust?”
“The only thing I can feel is snot!” the psion snapped, but then his eyes grew distant, and he turned his head south. “Wait…yes, I sense it now. The final piece.”
“South,” Giovanni confirmed.
_________________________________________________
Before departing, the group thoroughly searched Thessalar’s abode, turning up mountains of information on the liche’s research. It seemed that Thessalar had come to the Fissure two decades ago, drawn by rumors of how Kyuss had somehow managed to use a living creature as a vector for undeath. Thessalar hoped to expand on this research, but it proved fruitless. At this point in the journals, the liche mentioned someone named Zulshyn. The person was apparently female, and it was equally apparent that the liche was obsessed with her. The past decade or more that he had spent in the Fissure had been used to research a way to magically transport protolife directly into Zulshyn’s body, thus binding her to Thessalar forever. The whole, sordid tale made for repulsive reading, at best. Also among the wizard’s belongings, the League came across his veritable library of spell books. These they hastily stuffed into an extradimensional portable hole for safekeeping, certain that they could sell the trove of knowledge for a tidy profit to the Thayans if they ever made it back to Waterdeep.
As the hours wore towards evening, the group decided to attempt to seek out the final piece of the strange puzzle they had stumbled across. Giovanni once more imbued his companions, save Grubber, with the ability to travel on air, borne by the winds. Miles passed by in minutes, and soon they came upon a second, vast lake. On a cliff high above it, sat an exotic looking tower, shaped to look like a large dome with a gracefully hooked spire rising over the top like a claw. A balcony halfway up the spire provided a breath-taking view of the mist-laced lake below. The dome and tower seemed to be made of a single piece of polished obsidian, pierced by elaborate stained glass windows depicting the riders of the Apocalypse.
Alighting a safe distance from the tower, the team waited while Faust and Mak used their respective magics to teleport back and retrieve Grubber. Once they were all together again, they made their way across the plateau to the vaguely unnerving structure.
“I know you are all going to think I’m crazy for saying this,” Faust said as they approached the front doors, which seemed to be made of slabs of semi-transparent rose quartz, “but I’ve nearly reached the limits of my psychic capabilities for the day, and I know the rest of you are similarly exhausted. Why don’t, for once, we not assume everything and everyone we meet here is out to kill us? We can at least try a diplomatic approach. Worst case scenario, we end up in a fight for our lives. What else is new?”
Hawk stared at the psion for a moment before nodding, “You’re right,” he said. “You are crazy. Nevertheless, I’ve never been one for senseless bloodshed, so let’s run this idea of yours up the flagpole and see who salutes.” With that, using one mailed fist, he knocked on the crystal doors.
Several minutes passed until the huge portals at last swung silently open. Standing in the plainly decorated foyer beyond was a beautiful woman, yet unlike any woman any of them had ever seen. At first, each of them reached reflexively for their weapons, for the woman bore more than a passing resemblance to the marilith they had fought at the Citadel of Weeping Dragons. A closer look, however, revealed that she had only two arms instead of six, and beautiful, multi-colored feathered wings grew from her back. The cruel eyes of the marilith were also absent, though she bore a distinct expression of annoyance on her lovely face.
“Well?” she asked as the uncomfortable silence stretched on. Hawk stepped forward, clearing his throat.
“Your pardon, my lady,” he said, sketching a formal bow and removing his helm. “We regret this intrusion, but we…well, there is no other way to put it than to say that we were led here.”
“Led?” she asked, her delicately arched brows rising, “By whom?”
“We are not sure,” the civilar replied. “We have come to this…place,” he swept one arm wide, indicating the Wormcrawl Fissure as a whole, “seeking to stop the coming of the Age of Worms.”
“I’m unfamiliar with the term,” she said coolly.
“The cult of the worm-god Kyuss is attempting to release him from his imprisonment,” Hawk explained. “If this happens, it would herald the dawning of an age of despair for the world. We intend to stop this from happening, but first we must destroy Kyuss’ general, the dracolich Dragotha.”
The woman looked pensive for a moment, as if recalling a long-forgotten memory. “Are you speaking of the worm priests?” she asked at length. Hawk nodded. “I must confess,” she continued, “though I have lived here for over a decade, I have taken little interest in the local denizens. My art consumes me.”
At this point Faust stepped forward. She frowned at the trollish élan. “I am Faust Cenodoxus,” the psion said, bowing low. “If I may be so bold, my lady…what is your name?”
“Zulshyn,” she replied, and Faust’s eyes briefly cut to his companions.
“And you are a lillend, if I’m not mistaken?” he asked. Zulshyn nodded. Faust knew that, by nature, lillends were servants of the celestials, and generally tended towards high morals. He also knew that they were whimsical creatures, almost completely involved in artistic pursuits, often to the exclusion of the world around them. He knew that he and his companions had to tread lightly here.
“Do you know the name Thessalar?” he asked. Instantly, Zulshyn’s visage darkened. “I see that you do,” Faust continued. “Would it please you to know that he has been, ah, neutralized, at least temporarily? His hospitality left much to be desired, and we were forced to use other means of diplomacy. After he was dispatched, we found many of his notes, including his plans to turn you into one of his thralls.”
Zulshyn’s anger palpably increased. “He is a monster!” she snapped. “I am indeed pleased to hear of his defeat, and should he ever return to the Fissure, I shall take a personal interest in making him live to regret it. This, then explains why you have come here. You seek a reward.”
“Not true,” Faust said holding his hands up placatingly. “We only seek information. Do you know of a man named Balakarde?”
Zulshyn’s expression became guarded, and her eyes narrowed. “Why?” she asked, a dangerous tone creeping into her voice. Hawk spoke before Faust could reply.
“He was a mage of great power. He disappeared sixteen years ago while searching for Dragotha. We have reason to believe that he was killed, but his soul has not departed this plane. In fact, we believe that we have come into possession of two fragments of his soul, and we seek a third. With his spirit reunited, it is our hope that he may aid us in our quest to destroy Dragotha.”
Zulshyn regarded the civilar for a moment, and then turned, beckoning. “Come with me,” she said, and the group followed.
She led them into a large gallery, filled with stunning works of art, though many were somewhat morbid in their subject matter. They included onyx sculptures of monstrous denizens of the Wormcrawl Fissure, jade masks of fearsome, worm-eaten visages, and paintings depicting dozens of different iconic locations and persons throughout the multiverse, such as a portrait of Ehlonna, a city-scape of Sigil, a frighteningly realistic depiction of the demon prince Graz’zt and his lover Igwilv, and a massive landscape of the tangled and mind-boggling ways of the Infinite Staircase. She drifted casually over to a large, unworked blocked of clay, picked up carving tools, and began to sculpt as she spoke.
“Assuming I have this information that you speak of, such a thing would be of great value. What do you offer?”
The League members looked at each other questioningly for a moment, and then Giovanni reached into his haversack and pulled out a black, silk vestment, embroidered with silver thread.
“We took this from a necromancer called Filge who was assisting Thessalar. It was made by the archmage Dyrr. It grants the wearer a degree of imperviousness to physical harm, but it may also conjure up a wall of blades that none but the wearer may pass thru unscathed.”
Zulshyn regarded the item with a bored expression, and then shrugged. “Acceptable.” She then turned to Hawk, and it was at that moment that the civilar realized that the bust she was sculpting was him. He swallowed hard.
“You, and you alone will accompany me.” She began moving towards a curving stairwell. Hawk looked at his friends. Mak, Giovanni and Faust nodded enthusiastically, motioning for him to go. Only Grubber looked dubious. Reluctantly, the paladin followed.
The lillend led Hawk to a lavish bed chamber, dominated by a large, circular bed with silk sheets. A gilded mirror was attached to the ceiling above. Next to the bed was a small niche, and it was there that Zulshyn went. She passed a hand over the alcove, and there was a brief flash of blue light. Then she reached inside and drew out a statuette, carved in the likeness of a stately-looking man dressed in explorer’s garb. It was Balakarde. She offered it to Hawk. As soon as the civilar touched the smooth stone, he felt a rush of sensation in his mind, conjuring images of beautiful artistry, the sounds of poignant music, and lines of heart-felt verse. Hawk knew he had found what they were looking for.
“Our bargain is complete,” Zulshyn said, looking wistfully at the statue, “and I offer you and yours the hospitality of my home for the night. They will find the accommodations to their liking. As for you…” her eyes smoldered, and a faint smile touched her lips, “You may sleep here…if you wish.”
Hawk felt heat rise to his cheeks, and from the lillend’s grin, he knew that his face must have turned three shades darker.
“I…I…” he stammered, “I am…flattered, my lady, but I must humbly decline. I am sworn to Helm, and in his service I must be steadfast. I cannot allow myself…distractions.”
“The god of Duty binds you, does he?” she purred. “Are you not to be rewarded for your unswerving loyalty?”
“ I seek only the rewards of service itself,” Hawk said quickly, moving slowly towards the stairs. “I thank you again for your kindness.” He bowed, then turned hastily and left. He could hear Zulshyn’s throaty chuckle behind him.
___________________________________________________
“Well? How did it go?” Faust chortled as Hawk descended the stairs. “You weren’t gone very long, but then I suppose it has been quite awhile, what with chasing the minions of Kyuss from one end of Faerun to the other. Doesn’t leave time for more…wordly pursuits.”
A dangerous look from Hawk cut short any further gibes from the psion. He settled for a knowing smirk and the occasional rude hand gesture. However, as Hawk drew near, Faust’s expression changed, as did that of Havok. A glazed look also passed over the paladin’s eyes. A strange stillness settled over the area. Sounds grew muted, colors dull, and the air itself felt thick and chilled. Giovanni slowly removed his chasuble. At the same time, Faust raised Balakarde’s purse and Hawk lifted the statue. To Mak and Grubber, it seemed as though they did this not of their own volition, but instead as if it was just a reflex. As the three objects touched, a brilliant flash of light filled the room. Zulshyn, who was descending the stairs at the time, flung one arm over her eyes against the glare. The sense of oppressive menace and muted reality was swept away in that instant, and a ghostly figure of a man floated serenely in the air with an expression of joy etched on his face.
‘My unending thanks to you all,” a voice spoke into the minds of all those present. ‘As I’m sure you have deduced by now, I am Balakarde.’
‘Malchor sends his regards,’ Giovanni replied respectfully.
A smile brightened the spirit’s face even more. ‘Ah, I have missed my old friend. If only I had heeded his advice, things might have turned out differently. But what is past is past. There is still the future to look to, and I have much to tell you. I feel that time grows short.’
‘Yes,’ Giovanni agreed, ‘Lashonna told us how to discover the location of Dragotha’s phylactery, and we succeeded in destroying it. Now we fear the dracolich will put his plans in motion sooner rather than later. The Age of Worms is nigh.’
Balakarde nodded, frowning. ‘It is well that the devil-wyrm’s heart has been cut out, but know that you cannot trust Lashonna. It was she who also sent me to my doom. She is a vampire.’
‘We suspected as much,’ Giovanni said, ‘yet we had little choice but to follow her advice at the time.’
‘You must always bear in mind that she acts in her own best interests,’ the ghost-mage said. ‘She is one of Kyuss’ greatest minions, second only to Dragotha himself.’ His visage twisted in rage as he spoke the liche’s name. ‘No doubt she wants the dracolich eliminated so that she may take his place at Kyuss’ side. Now, I must tell you my tale, so that you will not make the same mistakes that I made, and with luck, you may succeed where I failed.’
Balakarde’s tale was one of sorrow, and misfortune. Forty years past, he encountered the spawn of Kyuss for the first time. The resulting battle was grueling, and by the time the spawn lay dead at his feet, the ravenous worms had claimed the life of his adventuring companion and sister, a bright-eyed and vivacious woman named Maralee. Balakarde took his sister’s death hard, and fell into a depression that lasted for two years. He emerged changed for the better (or so those close to him thought), and went on to become one of the most powerful wizards of his generation. Yet he never forgot the terror and despair of his sister’s death. He vowed to do something about it, and when he reached the peak of his powers, he did. Abandoning his responsibilities, his work, and his friends, he dedicated himself to one task…destroying Kyuss. He hoped to spare others the pain the Wormgod’s spawn brought him by eradicating all remaining trace of the cult. He soon realized that something larger than scattered cultists was afoot. Bit by bit he uncovered evidence that the cult of Kyuss was very much alive and working to bring about a terrible apocalypse. His fears and rage grew, but instead of relying upon others for aid, he grew paranoid and secretive. He trusted only a few, and even to them he gave only hints of what he’d discovered, fearful of just how deeply Kyuss’ taint had reached. It was thus an ironic twist of fate that led him to Lashonna. In his obsession with Kyuss, he failed to recognize the mark of the Wormgod on the woman’s soul, and blindly followed her advice and clues into the Wormcrawl Fissure, where Dragotha captured him and tormented him for months. Eventually, the hateful dragon revealed a final depravity to the wizard; he had recovered the remains of Maralee’s corpse and had transformed her into a Kyuss Knight. It was at the hands of his undead sister that Balakarde breathed his last, and in death his soul shattered. That was sixteen years ago.
‘So you know where Dragotha is?’ Giovanni asked as the mage finished his story.
‘Yes,’ Balakarde replied. ‘He dwells within the Tabernacle of Worms, a fortress which lies beyond Kyuss’ Maw at the far western end of the Wormcrawl Fissure. He lairs in its lowest depths, the Writhing Sanctum, crouched atop the ziggurat where Kyuss’ monolith once stood, but you must not beard him there immediately. That was my mistake. He called all of his minions to his aid, and I was overwhelmed. My advice to you is to first destroy his servants, and then face the wyrm alone.’
‘Won’t he come after us when he learns we are within the fortress?’ Hawk asked.
‘He may be old, wise, and powerful,’ Balakarde scowled, ‘but he is also arrogant. He will not expect you to win through. With luck, that will be his undoing.’
‘We thank you for the information you have provided,’ Giovanni said, bowing.
‘One more thing I may be able to give,’ the ghost said. ‘When you finally reach Dragotha, I shall endeavor to come to you again. If at all possible, I might aid you when all hope seems lost.’ As his last words faded, so to did his form, yet Giovanni, Hawk and Faust still felt his presence in their thoughts.
__________________________________________________
The following morning, the group took their leave of Zulshyn and traveled via teleportation to the coordinates Balakarde had given them. They found themselves standing before a vast, yawning cave entrance. Beyond, a fungus-lined tunnel coiled deep into the bowels of the earth. However, the way was guarded. Perched on ledges some fifty feet above the Maw were four creatures, which the League at first took to be huge chimerae. Closer inspection, though, revealed their eye sockets to be filled with writhing, green worms. As the monstrous undead took flight, Havok tore a scroll from his cloak. As he read it, his body began to enlarge, and his skin reddened. Horns curled from his forehead, and great, bat wings unfurled from his back. In moments a pit fiend, greatest of the devils, stood in the warlock’s place.
The worm-ridden chimerae landed in a loose circle around the group, and immediately their draconic heads roared forth great gouts of flame. Though Havok’s fiendish form rendered him impervious, Hawk, Grubber and Mak were badly singed. Faust had managed to retreat several dozen yards away before the beasts landed, confidant that his companions could handle the threat. His powers were meant for greater things this day.
Havok’s new guise robbed him of his innate, eldritch abilities, yet it gave him others, equally destructive. He unleashed a ball of fire on the nearest two chimerae as they approached closer. Hawk whirled towards the chimera on his flank, Quaero a blur of motion. Knowing they would most assuredly be facing the spawn of Kyuss within the Tabernacle, and knowing as well the vulnerability of the creatures to silver, the civilar had coated his blade with the metal prior to departing Zulshyn’s tower. Now the chimera reaped the whirlwind, its putrid flesh flayed open. Mak had taken the same precaution, and he brought his own sword to bear on one of the brutes flanking Havok.
Grubber ached to call on his magic, but like Faust, he knew that his abilities would be sorely taxed in the coming hours, and so he resolved to rely on his martial skills. Unfortunately, his maul lacked the silver sheen of his comrades, and his blows did little to slow his own opponent. The reverse, regrettably, was not true. With a roar, the chimera pounced upon him, its leonine and draconic heads biting savagely, while its goat head rammed its horns into his chest. Simultaneously, its claws ripped into his flesh. As he staggered back from the onslaught, he saw that one of the green worms had dropped onto his skin, and was burrowing beneath it as he watched.
The other three chimerae were just as frenzied in their attacks on Mak, Havok and Hawk. Only the civilar managed to ward off their blows. The goliath and the warlock also found worms had been transferred to them, but the supernatural toughness of their hides prevented the wretched vermin from burrowing. Havok returned his foes savagery with his own, bringing his own claws, teeth, wings and tail to bear, and following the barrage with a second fire ball.
As Hawk threw off the chimera’s attacks as if they were nothing, Quaero struck again, and this time the beast succumbed to the holy artifact, collapsing into a pile of putrid flesh and worms. Mak also downed his opponent, and then he and the paladin rushed to Grubber’s aid. None too soon. The chimera struck again, and blood flowed freely from the priest’s wounds. Another worm began burrowing into his flesh, and the pain was almost unbearable. He fumbled in his belt pouch for a potion flask as Hawk slammed into the chimera, hammering it to the ground with a flurry of precision strikes. As Grubber quaffed the potion, Havok wrestled the last beast to the ground, ripping and tearing into it until it moved no more. Grubber felt the draught fill his system, purging it of the filthy vermin before they could reach and devour his mind, but it had been a near thing. Heaving great gasps of air, he turned and stared forlornly at Kyuss’ Maw, wondering at what further horrors awaited them in the Tabernacle of Worms.
![:]](http://www.enworld.org/forum/images/smilies/devious.png "Devious :]")
