GilaMonster
First Post
What spell was it?
JollyDoc's Savage Tide-Updated 10/8!
Neverwinter Knight
First Post
Symbol of Insanity, if I'm not mistaken.
JollyDoc & Co., how many rounds for the combat with the pirates (from the last post)?
JollyDoc & Co., how many rounds for the combat with the pirates (from the last post)?
JollyDoc
Explorer
Neverwinter Knight said:
Yes, it was, in fact, a symbol of Insanity.
Let's see...there were sixteen pirates, four captains and the retriever. IIRC, it was no more than three rounds, but probably more like two. When the Cleaver gets in the mix and starts swinging with Cleave and Great Cleave, it's not pretty. I think he was taking four or five pirates down at a time.
primemover003
First Post
That's just brutal... Minotaurs and Goliath's can serve up some serious butt whipping! My group is through the first 2 sessions of our campaign and already our Barbarian goliath dropped a T-Rex with a 148 point Crit with his Large Maul. Our resident Minotaur might not dish damage like TC but you'd be hard pressed to even hit him seeing as his AC is 35.
While not as polished as Jollydoc's fine prose my story hour's up if anybody needs something to read while JD's group is on Hiatus. It's really more of a campaign journal but hopefully as time goes on I'll find my narrative voice.
Swords against the Savage Tide: a Planewalkers Tale
While not as polished as Jollydoc's fine prose my story hour's up if anybody needs something to read while JD's group is on Hiatus. It's really more of a campaign journal but hopefully as time goes on I'll find my narrative voice.
Swords against the Savage Tide: a Planewalkers Tale
Last edited:
primemover003
First Post
None of my players ever frequent this or any other boards fortunately...javcs said:
JollyDoc
Explorer
ANSWERS AND QUESTIONS
Once Mandi had made sure that the trap on the foc’s’le door was inert, Tower Cleaver once again tried the knob, and this time found it turned easily in his hand. The six companions followed the gangway below decks, where they found themselves in what appeared to be a prison. Iron-barred doors closed off four cells in the area. Each one was a filthy, damp cubby furnished with a single bucket, a heap of moldy straw and rags, and a wooden trough near the door to hold food. Only one of the cells was occupied. A badly beaten Lemorian, his legs obviously broken and his jaw crushed, reached feebly out to the Legionnaires when he saw them, moaning in agony as he struggled to move.
“Well, well,” Mandi said, looking down on the pitiful sight. “It appears there really is no honor among thieves, but there is justice. Sepoto, do you still have the Captain’s keys?”
The goliath moved forward with the key ring he’d taken from Wyther, and tried several in the lock until he found the one that fit. As the door swung open, Mandi stepped inside and knelt down before the Lemorian, placing her hands on either side of his head as she murmured a spell.
‘I am called Ozymandia,’ she said, speaking telepathically into the mute pirate’s mind via the mental link she’d established with her incantation. ‘I and my companions comprise the Legionnaires. Who might you be?’
‘They call me Ratline Sid,’ the pirate moaned, ‘once cap’n o’th’Hell’s Fury, now a mutineer and th’lowly wretch ya see afore’ye.’
‘Mutiny?’ Mandi asked. ‘Why was there a mutiny, and where are your fellow mutineers?’
‘They’s all dead or fled,’ Ratline answered, ‘but if ye want t’know the why of it, that information comes wit a price.’
Mandi’s eyes narrowed. ‘Your bargaining position is highly dubious, my friend.’
‘All’s I want is fer ya to ease me suffering. Can ye mend me wounds a bit?’
Mandi nodded and extracted a healing elixir from her belt pouch. ‘This won’t completely heal you,’ she said as she placed the flask to Ratline’s mouth and upended it, ‘but it will help, and there’s more where it came from if I find the information you have useful.’
Sid swallowed eagerly, and several of his bruises began to fade, including the ugly purple one around his jaw. Slowly, he worked his mouth from side to side before nodding and grinning a gap-toothed smile.
“I thank ye, lassie,” he said aloud.
“You can thank me by telling me what you know,” Mandi countered.
“Aye, so I said,” Ratline acknowledged. “Not long back, an’ ole member o’th’Society by the name o’Vanthus Vanderboren came back from th’dead. He showed up here ridin’ a horse with hooves made o’fire, and a mane t’match. Cap’n Wyther was none to happy t’see th’ole boy, that’s fer sure. When Vanthus came, he had mighty fine catch o’a’wench wit him, but he kept close hold on’er th’whole time he was here. He demanded the Cap’n give’im some o’th’ recruiters, an’ provide’im wit a ship, namely th’Crimson Scar, Cap’n Wyther’s flag ship. Ya could tell Wyther’d rather’ve stabbed’im in th’heart, but ole Vanthus weren’t th’same weasel he were afore he died, and the Cap’n backed down right quick. Well, when Vanthus finally left, me and some o’th’lads weren’t too keen on how Wyther let’im push’im about like he did, and we decided the fleet might be better off wit someone else at th’helm.”
“Someone like yourself,” Mandi interrupted dryly.
Sid grinned again. “Just so, lassie. Only ye can guess how that turned out. Got meself nearly beat to a pulp and thrown in here, but some o’th’others hightailed it wit some o’th’ships. Cap’n Wyther sent over half the fleet after’em.
“So that’s why the place wasn’t fully guarded,” Sepoto nodded.
“You said Vanthus left,” Mandi continued. “Where did he go?”
Ratline smiled crookedly. “That would seem t’be valuable information, lassie.” He opened his mouth like a baby bird. Sighing, Mandi drew another healing elixir out and administered it to him. Now the pirate was able to get himself into a sitting position, and the color was returning to his face.
“Thank’ye,” he said, stretching. “Now, as fer Vanthus, well I’m not fer certain exactly where he was headed, but I do know he fired up th’wakeportal on Wyther’s ship, which took’im t’Gaping Maw.”
“Gaping Maw?” Sepoto asked.
“Wakeportal?” Mandi queried.
“Gaping Maw,” Ratline repeated, looking at Sepoto as if he were a dim-witted child. “The home o’Demogorgon? Ain’t ye never heard o’it? Stuff o’nightmares, let me tell ya, boyo. As fer wakeportals, if’n ye don’t know about’em, then ye’ll be findin’ that information useful…and valuable.”
Mandi muttered as she gave him a third elixir, this one allowing him to climb slowly to his feet.
Popping his back, he continued his tale. “A wakeportal’s a magical stone that, when ye fix it to th’bow o’a ship, it’ll take ye straight t’the Abyss, sailin’ the Abyssal Ocean towards Gaping Maw. If ye’re lookin’ t’find one, Wyther kept a spare in th’treasury below decks in th’Two-faced Wretch.”
“What about the Shadow Pearls?” Mandi asked. “What does the Kraken Society plan to do with them?”
Ratline was silent for a moment before he answered. “We just finished deliverin’ dozen’o’th’little blighters to cities all across Faerun. Not sure why we just give’em away when we could’o sold’em, and then stolen’em back.”
“But you don’t know what they’re going to be used for?” Mandi asked, pointedly.
Ratline shook his head. “No idea, lassie. Wish I could help ye more.”
“You’ve done more than enough,” Mandi replied, “and you are free to go.”
With that, she backed out of the cell, and Ratline tentatively followed and began walking towards the gangway.
“Idon’t envy ye if’n ye’re headed to the Abyss,” he said sincerely, “but perhaps we’ll meet again someday on th’hgh seas.”
“Perhaps,” Mandi said, “but I may not be so merciful next time…”
________________________________________________________
“What is it with pirates and Demogorgon?” Sepoto sighed. The company had made their way below deck aboard the Two-Faced Wretch, and had stumbled across what appeared to be some sort of shrine during their search for the treasury. A grotesque scrimshaw statue of a towering two-headed monster dominated the chamber. It was composed of numerous huge whalebones that had been filed and fitted together like a jigsaw puzzle. The entire thing had an unsettling quality about it, almost as if the two skull-like faces could see. An iron brazier filled with ashes sat between the statue’s feet, and clutched in its tentacles was a single, curious metal orb.
“Scum attracts scum,” Mandi replied absently as she bent to examine the orb. It seemed to be made of interlocking slats and panels which looked as if they could be moved or manipulated. However, when the sorceress reached out a hand to slide one of the panels, serrated blades lanced out of the sphere, slashing deeply into her wrists.
“Damn these traps!” she spat, cradling her wounds.
“May I?” Octurus asked, stepping forward. When Mandi looked at him incredulously, he shrugged. “It looks like the puzzle balls that my people carve as toys to amuse children. I’ve seen them all my life.”
Mandi rolled her eyes and shrugged her shoulders. “Be my guest. I just hope you can still twirl those pig-stickers of yours without fingers.”
Carefully, the Maztican warrior turned the orb about in his hands. Then, with concentration etched across his brow, he slowly began twisting and turning the various pieces. With a final adjustment, the sphere suddenly unfolded like a metallic rose, and it floated into the air. A deep, mauve haze began to seep from the brazier, quickly filling the room with a sickening stink of rotting fish and seaweed. Suddenly, the demonic statue seemed to slither to awful life. Its surface filled in with rancid greens and blues and sickly yellows as it took on the fearful countenance of the Prince of Demons. His two simian heads scowled, writhing above his serpentine body on long snaky necks that made an obscene sucking noise. Two tentacle arms came into view, dripping as he moved in long strides as though his body was dislocated. The twin heads looked around the room and then settled their gazes upon Octurus, watching expectantly. At that moment, the Maztican knew instinctively what he was to do. Stepping forward, he spoke boldly and without hesitation.
“Tell me what is planned for the shadow pearls,”
The demonic apparition hissed and lashed its tentacles, but nevertheless it began to speak, first one head, and then the other.
“The pearls will be used to trigger a massive savage tide across your world. The energy that is released from this cataclysm will then be gathered by the Prince of Demons and all the multiverse shall tremble!”
Suddenly, the statue began to roar in rage. Its tentacles crashed against the walls of the room, and then its gaze turned back down and it spoke in a horrifically sibilant voice.
“I know you. You seek to oppose me. But you are mortal. I shall be with you soon. You shall know my wrath!”
With that, the statue howled again, just before it exploded in a blast of fire and acid. So great was the blast, that a hole was rent in the side of the ships hull, and Octurus was flung like a rag-doll through it.
__________________________________________________________________
Some time later, after Daelric had mended the broken bones of Octurus, who had fallen sixty feet to the deck of the Anger, the company stood before a unique door within the bowels of the Two-Faced Wretch. It was unique in that it was sheathed in lead, and pulsed with a malevolent purple light. Sepoto was foremost, and he held Wyther’s key ring in his hand. He had found the key which he presumed would fit the lock, and was only waiting for Mandi and the others to withdraw a safe distance in case it was the wrong key. When they gave him the signal, he placed the key in the lock.
To Sepoto’s immense relief, the purple haze faded and the door swung silently open. The walls of the room beyond were plated in what appeared to be lead that shimmered with sparkling energy. A single, long table sat against the wall immediately to the door’s left. A few chairs sat nearby, and a spherical object the size of a human head sat atop the table, covered by a deep purple cloth. The contents of the rest of the room left little doubt as to its purpose. Sacks of coins, sea chests too full to be properly closed, heaps of silks, suits of partially assembled armor, tapestries, mounds of fine furs and clothing, jewelry boxes, metal coffers, and racks of weapons lined the port and starboard walls, leaving an open area in the center were one might stand and admire the collection. It was, without a doubt, the treasury of the Kraken Society. There was also never a doubt that such a horde would be left unguarded. No sooner had the door opened, than a large creature stepped in front of it. Standing nearly sixteen feet tall, the hulking brute had a red, scaly hide and a small, skull-like head framed by large ears that almost resembled bat wings. Its right arm was small and atrophied, the size of a human’s arm, while its left was enormous and grossly overdeveloped, gripping a large, keen-edged blade. This was Ghourgos, a yagnoloth who had once been the lord of a necropolis in Hades, but who know bridled at the servitude he was forced to endure as a mere treasure warden. When he saw that it was not his captor, Wyther, who had opened the door, he felt nothing but blind rage, which needed a convenient outlet.
Before Sepoto could react, Ghourgos blade sliced a deep, welling cut across his abdomen, sending him reeling back into the outer chamber. As the crusader tumbled to the floor, Octurus vaulted over him, landing poised with both blades in hand directly before the demon.
“Face me, Abyss-spawn!” he shouted. “I am the Hunter, the right arm of Quetzalcoatl, and I am here to claim your eternal soul!”
“Bah!” Ghourgos spat as he casually back-handed the little human. Octurus rolled with the punch, however, coming to his feet within the treasury, behind Ghourgos. As he passed through the door, though, the Maztican felt a searing pain in his chest that vanished just as quickly as it had appeared. A Forbiddance. The room was warded against those with a different moral bent than its occupant, and a piece of Octurus’s soul had been torn from him as he passed the threshold. Ignoring his pain, he raised one of his blades, and hacked deep into the yagnoloth’s quadriceps. Bellowing in pain, Ghourgos stepped away from Octurus, jerking the scimitar from his hand, still buried in the demon’s flesh as it was. By that time, Sepoto had regained his feet and rushed back towards the fray. Ghourgos heard his approach, however, and whirled like a striking cobra, slashing deep into the goliath’s chest with his claws. Undeterred, Sepoto summoned Savras’s power to his weapon, and when he struck, holy light flared across the chamber. A moment later, Octurus struck again, this time impaling his remaining blade deep into Ghourgos belly. So telling was the blow that the yagnoloth was bent double, retching violently onto the floor. When he finally regained his composure and raised his head, he founding himself staring up at Tower Cleaver.
“Moo,” the minotaur said just before he buried his axe in Ghourgos’s skull.
________________________________________________________
The room proved to be a veritable king’s fortune in treasure, but it was not riches that Mandi sought. Her eyes had come to rest upon a strange chest. Cast in iron, it was decorated by seven gargoyle faces that stared out in all directions interspersed with dancing angels. It appeared that each of the faces could be manipulated to change their expression from anger to horror to sorrow to laughter.
“As I live and breathe,” Mandi said, almost reverently. “This is the legendary chest of Hathruman. I’ve read a little on him in my studies. He was notorious arcane trickster, held as a master in trap-making circles. Dozens of boxes, coffers, cases, arks and other vessels have borne his name, but he created only one chest…this one, an item so wicked that is rumored to have a will of its own.”
Mandi reached inside one of her belt pouches and retrieved a folded sheet of parchment she had found on Wyther’s body. Written upon it was a list of spells: Fear, Rage, Crushing Despair, Crushing Despair, Rage, Fear, and Tasha’s Hideous Laughter. At first, she had not known what to make of the list, but now, as she stared at the gargoyle faces, it made sense. Carefully, she began to turn the faces, shifting them in order, clockwise, to horror, then anger, sorrow, sorrow again, anger, horror and laughter. The top of the chest sprung open with a satisfying click. Inside were many more gems and jewelry, but concealed within a supple, velvet bag was a tear-shaped purple stone…the wakeportal.
“Well, well,” Mandi said as she held the stone up, appraisingly. “It seems we have business with the Prince of Demons…”
Once Mandi had made sure that the trap on the foc’s’le door was inert, Tower Cleaver once again tried the knob, and this time found it turned easily in his hand. The six companions followed the gangway below decks, where they found themselves in what appeared to be a prison. Iron-barred doors closed off four cells in the area. Each one was a filthy, damp cubby furnished with a single bucket, a heap of moldy straw and rags, and a wooden trough near the door to hold food. Only one of the cells was occupied. A badly beaten Lemorian, his legs obviously broken and his jaw crushed, reached feebly out to the Legionnaires when he saw them, moaning in agony as he struggled to move.
“Well, well,” Mandi said, looking down on the pitiful sight. “It appears there really is no honor among thieves, but there is justice. Sepoto, do you still have the Captain’s keys?”
The goliath moved forward with the key ring he’d taken from Wyther, and tried several in the lock until he found the one that fit. As the door swung open, Mandi stepped inside and knelt down before the Lemorian, placing her hands on either side of his head as she murmured a spell.
‘I am called Ozymandia,’ she said, speaking telepathically into the mute pirate’s mind via the mental link she’d established with her incantation. ‘I and my companions comprise the Legionnaires. Who might you be?’
‘They call me Ratline Sid,’ the pirate moaned, ‘once cap’n o’th’Hell’s Fury, now a mutineer and th’lowly wretch ya see afore’ye.’
‘Mutiny?’ Mandi asked. ‘Why was there a mutiny, and where are your fellow mutineers?’
‘They’s all dead or fled,’ Ratline answered, ‘but if ye want t’know the why of it, that information comes wit a price.’
Mandi’s eyes narrowed. ‘Your bargaining position is highly dubious, my friend.’
‘All’s I want is fer ya to ease me suffering. Can ye mend me wounds a bit?’
Mandi nodded and extracted a healing elixir from her belt pouch. ‘This won’t completely heal you,’ she said as she placed the flask to Ratline’s mouth and upended it, ‘but it will help, and there’s more where it came from if I find the information you have useful.’
Sid swallowed eagerly, and several of his bruises began to fade, including the ugly purple one around his jaw. Slowly, he worked his mouth from side to side before nodding and grinning a gap-toothed smile.
“I thank ye, lassie,” he said aloud.
“You can thank me by telling me what you know,” Mandi countered.
“Aye, so I said,” Ratline acknowledged. “Not long back, an’ ole member o’th’Society by the name o’Vanthus Vanderboren came back from th’dead. He showed up here ridin’ a horse with hooves made o’fire, and a mane t’match. Cap’n Wyther was none to happy t’see th’ole boy, that’s fer sure. When Vanthus came, he had mighty fine catch o’a’wench wit him, but he kept close hold on’er th’whole time he was here. He demanded the Cap’n give’im some o’th’ recruiters, an’ provide’im wit a ship, namely th’Crimson Scar, Cap’n Wyther’s flag ship. Ya could tell Wyther’d rather’ve stabbed’im in th’heart, but ole Vanthus weren’t th’same weasel he were afore he died, and the Cap’n backed down right quick. Well, when Vanthus finally left, me and some o’th’lads weren’t too keen on how Wyther let’im push’im about like he did, and we decided the fleet might be better off wit someone else at th’helm.”
“Someone like yourself,” Mandi interrupted dryly.
Sid grinned again. “Just so, lassie. Only ye can guess how that turned out. Got meself nearly beat to a pulp and thrown in here, but some o’th’others hightailed it wit some o’th’ships. Cap’n Wyther sent over half the fleet after’em.
“So that’s why the place wasn’t fully guarded,” Sepoto nodded.
“You said Vanthus left,” Mandi continued. “Where did he go?”
Ratline smiled crookedly. “That would seem t’be valuable information, lassie.” He opened his mouth like a baby bird. Sighing, Mandi drew another healing elixir out and administered it to him. Now the pirate was able to get himself into a sitting position, and the color was returning to his face.
“Thank’ye,” he said, stretching. “Now, as fer Vanthus, well I’m not fer certain exactly where he was headed, but I do know he fired up th’wakeportal on Wyther’s ship, which took’im t’Gaping Maw.”
“Gaping Maw?” Sepoto asked.
“Wakeportal?” Mandi queried.
“Gaping Maw,” Ratline repeated, looking at Sepoto as if he were a dim-witted child. “The home o’Demogorgon? Ain’t ye never heard o’it? Stuff o’nightmares, let me tell ya, boyo. As fer wakeportals, if’n ye don’t know about’em, then ye’ll be findin’ that information useful…and valuable.”
Mandi muttered as she gave him a third elixir, this one allowing him to climb slowly to his feet.
Popping his back, he continued his tale. “A wakeportal’s a magical stone that, when ye fix it to th’bow o’a ship, it’ll take ye straight t’the Abyss, sailin’ the Abyssal Ocean towards Gaping Maw. If ye’re lookin’ t’find one, Wyther kept a spare in th’treasury below decks in th’Two-faced Wretch.”
“What about the Shadow Pearls?” Mandi asked. “What does the Kraken Society plan to do with them?”
Ratline was silent for a moment before he answered. “We just finished deliverin’ dozen’o’th’little blighters to cities all across Faerun. Not sure why we just give’em away when we could’o sold’em, and then stolen’em back.”
“But you don’t know what they’re going to be used for?” Mandi asked, pointedly.
Ratline shook his head. “No idea, lassie. Wish I could help ye more.”
“You’ve done more than enough,” Mandi replied, “and you are free to go.”
With that, she backed out of the cell, and Ratline tentatively followed and began walking towards the gangway.
“Idon’t envy ye if’n ye’re headed to the Abyss,” he said sincerely, “but perhaps we’ll meet again someday on th’hgh seas.”
“Perhaps,” Mandi said, “but I may not be so merciful next time…”
________________________________________________________
“What is it with pirates and Demogorgon?” Sepoto sighed. The company had made their way below deck aboard the Two-Faced Wretch, and had stumbled across what appeared to be some sort of shrine during their search for the treasury. A grotesque scrimshaw statue of a towering two-headed monster dominated the chamber. It was composed of numerous huge whalebones that had been filed and fitted together like a jigsaw puzzle. The entire thing had an unsettling quality about it, almost as if the two skull-like faces could see. An iron brazier filled with ashes sat between the statue’s feet, and clutched in its tentacles was a single, curious metal orb.
“Scum attracts scum,” Mandi replied absently as she bent to examine the orb. It seemed to be made of interlocking slats and panels which looked as if they could be moved or manipulated. However, when the sorceress reached out a hand to slide one of the panels, serrated blades lanced out of the sphere, slashing deeply into her wrists.
“Damn these traps!” she spat, cradling her wounds.
“May I?” Octurus asked, stepping forward. When Mandi looked at him incredulously, he shrugged. “It looks like the puzzle balls that my people carve as toys to amuse children. I’ve seen them all my life.”
Mandi rolled her eyes and shrugged her shoulders. “Be my guest. I just hope you can still twirl those pig-stickers of yours without fingers.”
Carefully, the Maztican warrior turned the orb about in his hands. Then, with concentration etched across his brow, he slowly began twisting and turning the various pieces. With a final adjustment, the sphere suddenly unfolded like a metallic rose, and it floated into the air. A deep, mauve haze began to seep from the brazier, quickly filling the room with a sickening stink of rotting fish and seaweed. Suddenly, the demonic statue seemed to slither to awful life. Its surface filled in with rancid greens and blues and sickly yellows as it took on the fearful countenance of the Prince of Demons. His two simian heads scowled, writhing above his serpentine body on long snaky necks that made an obscene sucking noise. Two tentacle arms came into view, dripping as he moved in long strides as though his body was dislocated. The twin heads looked around the room and then settled their gazes upon Octurus, watching expectantly. At that moment, the Maztican knew instinctively what he was to do. Stepping forward, he spoke boldly and without hesitation.
“Tell me what is planned for the shadow pearls,”
The demonic apparition hissed and lashed its tentacles, but nevertheless it began to speak, first one head, and then the other.
“The pearls will be used to trigger a massive savage tide across your world. The energy that is released from this cataclysm will then be gathered by the Prince of Demons and all the multiverse shall tremble!”
Suddenly, the statue began to roar in rage. Its tentacles crashed against the walls of the room, and then its gaze turned back down and it spoke in a horrifically sibilant voice.
“I know you. You seek to oppose me. But you are mortal. I shall be with you soon. You shall know my wrath!”
With that, the statue howled again, just before it exploded in a blast of fire and acid. So great was the blast, that a hole was rent in the side of the ships hull, and Octurus was flung like a rag-doll through it.
__________________________________________________________________
Some time later, after Daelric had mended the broken bones of Octurus, who had fallen sixty feet to the deck of the Anger, the company stood before a unique door within the bowels of the Two-Faced Wretch. It was unique in that it was sheathed in lead, and pulsed with a malevolent purple light. Sepoto was foremost, and he held Wyther’s key ring in his hand. He had found the key which he presumed would fit the lock, and was only waiting for Mandi and the others to withdraw a safe distance in case it was the wrong key. When they gave him the signal, he placed the key in the lock.
To Sepoto’s immense relief, the purple haze faded and the door swung silently open. The walls of the room beyond were plated in what appeared to be lead that shimmered with sparkling energy. A single, long table sat against the wall immediately to the door’s left. A few chairs sat nearby, and a spherical object the size of a human head sat atop the table, covered by a deep purple cloth. The contents of the rest of the room left little doubt as to its purpose. Sacks of coins, sea chests too full to be properly closed, heaps of silks, suits of partially assembled armor, tapestries, mounds of fine furs and clothing, jewelry boxes, metal coffers, and racks of weapons lined the port and starboard walls, leaving an open area in the center were one might stand and admire the collection. It was, without a doubt, the treasury of the Kraken Society. There was also never a doubt that such a horde would be left unguarded. No sooner had the door opened, than a large creature stepped in front of it. Standing nearly sixteen feet tall, the hulking brute had a red, scaly hide and a small, skull-like head framed by large ears that almost resembled bat wings. Its right arm was small and atrophied, the size of a human’s arm, while its left was enormous and grossly overdeveloped, gripping a large, keen-edged blade. This was Ghourgos, a yagnoloth who had once been the lord of a necropolis in Hades, but who know bridled at the servitude he was forced to endure as a mere treasure warden. When he saw that it was not his captor, Wyther, who had opened the door, he felt nothing but blind rage, which needed a convenient outlet.
Before Sepoto could react, Ghourgos blade sliced a deep, welling cut across his abdomen, sending him reeling back into the outer chamber. As the crusader tumbled to the floor, Octurus vaulted over him, landing poised with both blades in hand directly before the demon.
“Face me, Abyss-spawn!” he shouted. “I am the Hunter, the right arm of Quetzalcoatl, and I am here to claim your eternal soul!”
“Bah!” Ghourgos spat as he casually back-handed the little human. Octurus rolled with the punch, however, coming to his feet within the treasury, behind Ghourgos. As he passed through the door, though, the Maztican felt a searing pain in his chest that vanished just as quickly as it had appeared. A Forbiddance. The room was warded against those with a different moral bent than its occupant, and a piece of Octurus’s soul had been torn from him as he passed the threshold. Ignoring his pain, he raised one of his blades, and hacked deep into the yagnoloth’s quadriceps. Bellowing in pain, Ghourgos stepped away from Octurus, jerking the scimitar from his hand, still buried in the demon’s flesh as it was. By that time, Sepoto had regained his feet and rushed back towards the fray. Ghourgos heard his approach, however, and whirled like a striking cobra, slashing deep into the goliath’s chest with his claws. Undeterred, Sepoto summoned Savras’s power to his weapon, and when he struck, holy light flared across the chamber. A moment later, Octurus struck again, this time impaling his remaining blade deep into Ghourgos belly. So telling was the blow that the yagnoloth was bent double, retching violently onto the floor. When he finally regained his composure and raised his head, he founding himself staring up at Tower Cleaver.
“Moo,” the minotaur said just before he buried his axe in Ghourgos’s skull.
________________________________________________________
The room proved to be a veritable king’s fortune in treasure, but it was not riches that Mandi sought. Her eyes had come to rest upon a strange chest. Cast in iron, it was decorated by seven gargoyle faces that stared out in all directions interspersed with dancing angels. It appeared that each of the faces could be manipulated to change their expression from anger to horror to sorrow to laughter.
“As I live and breathe,” Mandi said, almost reverently. “This is the legendary chest of Hathruman. I’ve read a little on him in my studies. He was notorious arcane trickster, held as a master in trap-making circles. Dozens of boxes, coffers, cases, arks and other vessels have borne his name, but he created only one chest…this one, an item so wicked that is rumored to have a will of its own.”
Mandi reached inside one of her belt pouches and retrieved a folded sheet of parchment she had found on Wyther’s body. Written upon it was a list of spells: Fear, Rage, Crushing Despair, Crushing Despair, Rage, Fear, and Tasha’s Hideous Laughter. At first, she had not known what to make of the list, but now, as she stared at the gargoyle faces, it made sense. Carefully, she began to turn the faces, shifting them in order, clockwise, to horror, then anger, sorrow, sorrow again, anger, horror and laughter. The top of the chest sprung open with a satisfying click. Inside were many more gems and jewelry, but concealed within a supple, velvet bag was a tear-shaped purple stone…the wakeportal.
“Well, well,” Mandi said as she held the stone up, appraisingly. “It seems we have business with the Prince of Demons…”
