the Jester
Legend
Angel of Adventure said:
Mostly line of sight (the crowd) but also those epic wards that he had to disjoin to free his pit fiends.
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(Cydra) Great Conflicts
- Thread starter the Jester
- Start date
Mostly line of sight (the crowd) but also those epic wards that he had to disjoin to free his pit fiends.
the Jester
Legend
Escape from Hell!
The stars slip out of alignment. The conjunction ends as quickly as it began.
***
The head of Asmodeus lands with a wet thud, next to Grimdim’s boot. He grins a feral grin. The huge corpse of the dragon lies battered and bloodied; the pit fiends are all fallen; Martinet and Glasya are slain.
Grimdim says something, but Inoke can’t quite hear him. He seems to be... fading. As Inoke looks around, he realizes the same thing is happening to Bennodel, Lazenby, Jared and Kyrion.
“What’s happening?” cries the warmind. “They’re... disappearing!”
“It must be the conjunction,” Orbius reasons. “Our worlds are too far apart- we don’t share much in the way of a planar cosmology. While the conjunction was in effect we could meet, here, in Hell, which both of our realms have contact with. Once the conjunction has ended, we’ll be too far apart to interact even here.”
“It was good getting to know you guys!” Horbin shouts. But you need to loosen up a little, he adds mentally.
“What now?” asks Horbin.
”Loot!” cries Gerontius. His eyes are on the rod of ruby that Asmodeus had clutched.
“There is no time.”
Our heroes look up to see Glaisig standing in the doorway, next to the slain dragon. “You must realize that every alarm in the multiverse is going off right now. You must come quickly.”
“Let’s just take the rod,” suggests Gerontius.
”Fool!” hisses Glaisig. “Would you allow him to return?” Gerontius recoils. “The rod of Hell must be destroyed- and the only one capable of doing so is my Master.”
Our heroes are rooted with indecision for a moment. The halfling drops to Asmodeus’ body and begins stripping it. “I’ll just take the rest of this, then,” he says. “He doesn’t need it any more.”
“We must go now,” urges Glaisig. “There is no time for this foolishness!”
“All right, all right!”
The party hurries through the Palace of Hell on the heels of their guide. In the distance the sounds of battle are plain. They wrap themselves in illusion and shadow, trying to avoid being detected, and at one point they are nearly found out by a pair of mighty pit fiends; then at last they reach a strange sealed hatch.
“The entire palace is under a dimensional lock, and the surrounding environs are heavily guarded against planar travel as well. However, there is a portal that will allow you to escape the warded area, and from there you can gate or plane shift home.” Glaisig gestures at the portal. “You must first pass through the sewers of Hell.”
“Great,” groans Lillamere.
“You have done very well. My master shall not forget your aid.”
“Your master is a devil, and you are a devil, and we want no thanks from either of you!” exclaims Alcar.
Glaisig merely bows. “Hurry,” he urges. “I must away.” He turns and strides off, heading elsewhere in the palace.
Horbin mutters darkly. “Devils,” he groans. “I hate devils!” Alcar and Sir Maxwell both nod agreement.
***
The sewers of Hell are foul beyond words. The filth is horrendous. This is literally some evil sh*t. Our heroes move as fast as they dare, trying to avoid touching anything, and the burbling sounds all around them are enough to make them queasy. Combined with the unearthly fetor, it is stomach-churning.
Our heroes see several shapes moving in the distance or under the effluvia, but they try hard to disturb nothing, make little noise and expose themselves to nothing that might be a creature. They move through hours of winding tunnels, following Horbin's find the path.
Finally, they near the exit- but before they can reach it, a terrible watery beast rises from the thick flow below them. It seems to be almost like a water elemental, but when it slaps a huge wave against Inoke, he forgets everything he knows.
“It’s a Styx elemental!” cries Orbius.
The party destroys it, Lester using his new collection of metamagic rods to good effect and softening it up. It is Sir Maxwell who deals the final blow. The whole time, Inoke cringes back from the fight, crying out, “What’s going on? Where am I? Somebody tell me what’s happening!”
After the battle the party tries to settle Inoke down, and Horbin manages to restore his memories. With a sigh of relief, our heroes move to the large sewer grate that leads out to the surface of the Ninth Hell: a blasted landscape, covered with jagged stones, scarred with fire and blood. The stink of sulphur taints the air. The wind is like a blast furnace. Thick dark clouds hang close overhead.
As our heroes emerge from the sewers, flying to the ground well away from the stench, Vaxaleth, Terror from the Skies, comes screaming out of the clouds at them! A huge, dragon-shaped force of pure corruption and evil, Vaxaleth glows red-hot as he tears through the sky towards the party. He has been set here to guard against their escape by those still loyal to Asmodeus. And Vaxaleth is mighty, more than capable of overcoming any but the mightiest opponents. Flame and unholy energy vomit from its mouth, burning Veil, Sir Maxwell and Alcar, all of whom cry out in terrible pain.
The party scatters. Orbius time stops and erects a prismatic sphere. Then he creates a sphere of ultimate destruction as the flow of time picks up again. The party scatters to avoid all being caught in another blast of the breath weapon, while Vaxaleth vanishes from sight in the clouds above.
Orbius fires a volley of seeker missiles, which streak up into the clouds, but it will be dumb luck if they find the dragon like this. Orbius mulls the difficulty of the cloud cover, and uses a limited wish to disperse them. Horbin follows this up with a miracle to grant mass flight to the party, allowing them considerably more mobility. Lester, meanwhile, hammers Vaxaleth with a lightning-substituted flame strike. This he follows up with a maximized, lightning-substitued meteor swarm.
That’s enough. The seeker missiles streak in as the corpse begins dropping like a huge scaled stone. Vaxaleth, Terror from the Skies, is no more.
Quickly the party returns to the find the path Horbin has going. Soon it leads to what is unmistakably a portal: an arch of interconnected bones, seemingly growing from the bare ground. In the distance, there is the rumbling din of a great battle.
“All right, let’s go!” Grinning- can it be that they’ve succeeded and are going to escape?- Horbin takes a deep breath. Thank you, Dexter, for helping us to perform these great works in Your name! he thinks, and steps through the portal and vanishes.
Alcar follows- but to his surprise he passes through the arch and to the other side, not being transported anywhere.
“There must be some kind of portal key!” Orbius declares. “Something Horbin had, or did...” Quickly he performs a simple divination and ascertains the answer. “Humility,” he says. “You must be humble.”
“No problem,” Veil nods. Thank you, Graz’zt, for your aid is destroying this great power of Law! I am ever your humble servant. Veil steps into the arch and vanishes. One by one, most of our heroes do the same, each schooling themselves to humility in their own way. Lester has a little trouble- his ego is the size of a house- but the real difficulty comes when Inoke walks through- and the mace of St. John drops behind him, unable (or unwilling?) to pass through.
Alcar tries to talk to it, to explain to it that it must place its faith in Galador and humble itself, which is ironic since Alcar has failed to pass through thrice by now. But try as he might, the Angel of Food cannot persuade the mace, and when Alcar finally does pass through the archway, the mace of St. John passes from our story- at least for now.
But let us remain, after our heroes have departed, for a few hours. Let us watch the mace of St. John, alone on the ground, half a mile from the smoldering corpse of Vaxaleth, the Terror from the Skies. Soon there are shadows flitting above it, as the battles continue to expand, and diabolic forces clash and fight against one another in the sky. Terrible spells are cast, claws and teeth tear at fiendish flesh, minds are shattered beneath the weight of crushing psychic powers.
Finally, one devil, badly wounded and exhausted, spirals down next to the archway. It is pursued by another, larger devil, who has smashed the wing and weapons of the smaller one.
Limping back, the smaller devil cannot avoid a crushing blow from its adversary. It is knocked sprawling, and directly at hand there is a weapon- a mace! It raises it up, blocking the death blow, and sweeps its attacker’s feet out from under it. The two struggle for a moment, and the smaller devil sweeps his new mace into the larger devil’s face, smashing him down.
For a moment the wounded little devil stands over the body of his assailant. He is shaky and wounded. He glances upward; there is a battle he should be participating in going on up there, but...
He looks around at the carnage. He looks at the blood on his hands.
He looks at his new mace.
Anger flares, but not the constant hateful rage he usually feels. This is more... righteous. He will not partake of the slaughter today. He has had enough of it.
He storms away. The mace of St. John continues its work.
Next Time: Our heroes have escaped from Hell- but they aren’t quite done in their dealings with Glaisig. What will be... their reward?
The stars slip out of alignment. The conjunction ends as quickly as it began.
***
The head of Asmodeus lands with a wet thud, next to Grimdim’s boot. He grins a feral grin. The huge corpse of the dragon lies battered and bloodied; the pit fiends are all fallen; Martinet and Glasya are slain.
Grimdim says something, but Inoke can’t quite hear him. He seems to be... fading. As Inoke looks around, he realizes the same thing is happening to Bennodel, Lazenby, Jared and Kyrion.
“What’s happening?” cries the warmind. “They’re... disappearing!”
“It must be the conjunction,” Orbius reasons. “Our worlds are too far apart- we don’t share much in the way of a planar cosmology. While the conjunction was in effect we could meet, here, in Hell, which both of our realms have contact with. Once the conjunction has ended, we’ll be too far apart to interact even here.”
“It was good getting to know you guys!” Horbin shouts. But you need to loosen up a little, he adds mentally.
“What now?” asks Horbin.
”Loot!” cries Gerontius. His eyes are on the rod of ruby that Asmodeus had clutched.
“There is no time.”
Our heroes look up to see Glaisig standing in the doorway, next to the slain dragon. “You must realize that every alarm in the multiverse is going off right now. You must come quickly.”
“Let’s just take the rod,” suggests Gerontius.
”Fool!” hisses Glaisig. “Would you allow him to return?” Gerontius recoils. “The rod of Hell must be destroyed- and the only one capable of doing so is my Master.”
Our heroes are rooted with indecision for a moment. The halfling drops to Asmodeus’ body and begins stripping it. “I’ll just take the rest of this, then,” he says. “He doesn’t need it any more.”
“We must go now,” urges Glaisig. “There is no time for this foolishness!”
“All right, all right!”
The party hurries through the Palace of Hell on the heels of their guide. In the distance the sounds of battle are plain. They wrap themselves in illusion and shadow, trying to avoid being detected, and at one point they are nearly found out by a pair of mighty pit fiends; then at last they reach a strange sealed hatch.
“The entire palace is under a dimensional lock, and the surrounding environs are heavily guarded against planar travel as well. However, there is a portal that will allow you to escape the warded area, and from there you can gate or plane shift home.” Glaisig gestures at the portal. “You must first pass through the sewers of Hell.”
“Great,” groans Lillamere.
“You have done very well. My master shall not forget your aid.”
“Your master is a devil, and you are a devil, and we want no thanks from either of you!” exclaims Alcar.
Glaisig merely bows. “Hurry,” he urges. “I must away.” He turns and strides off, heading elsewhere in the palace.
Horbin mutters darkly. “Devils,” he groans. “I hate devils!” Alcar and Sir Maxwell both nod agreement.
***
The sewers of Hell are foul beyond words. The filth is horrendous. This is literally some evil sh*t. Our heroes move as fast as they dare, trying to avoid touching anything, and the burbling sounds all around them are enough to make them queasy. Combined with the unearthly fetor, it is stomach-churning.
Our heroes see several shapes moving in the distance or under the effluvia, but they try hard to disturb nothing, make little noise and expose themselves to nothing that might be a creature. They move through hours of winding tunnels, following Horbin's find the path.
Finally, they near the exit- but before they can reach it, a terrible watery beast rises from the thick flow below them. It seems to be almost like a water elemental, but when it slaps a huge wave against Inoke, he forgets everything he knows.
“It’s a Styx elemental!” cries Orbius.
The party destroys it, Lester using his new collection of metamagic rods to good effect and softening it up. It is Sir Maxwell who deals the final blow. The whole time, Inoke cringes back from the fight, crying out, “What’s going on? Where am I? Somebody tell me what’s happening!”
After the battle the party tries to settle Inoke down, and Horbin manages to restore his memories. With a sigh of relief, our heroes move to the large sewer grate that leads out to the surface of the Ninth Hell: a blasted landscape, covered with jagged stones, scarred with fire and blood. The stink of sulphur taints the air. The wind is like a blast furnace. Thick dark clouds hang close overhead.
As our heroes emerge from the sewers, flying to the ground well away from the stench, Vaxaleth, Terror from the Skies, comes screaming out of the clouds at them! A huge, dragon-shaped force of pure corruption and evil, Vaxaleth glows red-hot as he tears through the sky towards the party. He has been set here to guard against their escape by those still loyal to Asmodeus. And Vaxaleth is mighty, more than capable of overcoming any but the mightiest opponents. Flame and unholy energy vomit from its mouth, burning Veil, Sir Maxwell and Alcar, all of whom cry out in terrible pain.
The party scatters. Orbius time stops and erects a prismatic sphere. Then he creates a sphere of ultimate destruction as the flow of time picks up again. The party scatters to avoid all being caught in another blast of the breath weapon, while Vaxaleth vanishes from sight in the clouds above.
Orbius fires a volley of seeker missiles, which streak up into the clouds, but it will be dumb luck if they find the dragon like this. Orbius mulls the difficulty of the cloud cover, and uses a limited wish to disperse them. Horbin follows this up with a miracle to grant mass flight to the party, allowing them considerably more mobility. Lester, meanwhile, hammers Vaxaleth with a lightning-substituted flame strike. This he follows up with a maximized, lightning-substitued meteor swarm.
That’s enough. The seeker missiles streak in as the corpse begins dropping like a huge scaled stone. Vaxaleth, Terror from the Skies, is no more.
Quickly the party returns to the find the path Horbin has going. Soon it leads to what is unmistakably a portal: an arch of interconnected bones, seemingly growing from the bare ground. In the distance, there is the rumbling din of a great battle.
“All right, let’s go!” Grinning- can it be that they’ve succeeded and are going to escape?- Horbin takes a deep breath. Thank you, Dexter, for helping us to perform these great works in Your name! he thinks, and steps through the portal and vanishes.
Alcar follows- but to his surprise he passes through the arch and to the other side, not being transported anywhere.
“There must be some kind of portal key!” Orbius declares. “Something Horbin had, or did...” Quickly he performs a simple divination and ascertains the answer. “Humility,” he says. “You must be humble.”
“No problem,” Veil nods. Thank you, Graz’zt, for your aid is destroying this great power of Law! I am ever your humble servant. Veil steps into the arch and vanishes. One by one, most of our heroes do the same, each schooling themselves to humility in their own way. Lester has a little trouble- his ego is the size of a house- but the real difficulty comes when Inoke walks through- and the mace of St. John drops behind him, unable (or unwilling?) to pass through.
Alcar tries to talk to it, to explain to it that it must place its faith in Galador and humble itself, which is ironic since Alcar has failed to pass through thrice by now. But try as he might, the Angel of Food cannot persuade the mace, and when Alcar finally does pass through the archway, the mace of St. John passes from our story- at least for now.
But let us remain, after our heroes have departed, for a few hours. Let us watch the mace of St. John, alone on the ground, half a mile from the smoldering corpse of Vaxaleth, the Terror from the Skies. Soon there are shadows flitting above it, as the battles continue to expand, and diabolic forces clash and fight against one another in the sky. Terrible spells are cast, claws and teeth tear at fiendish flesh, minds are shattered beneath the weight of crushing psychic powers.
Finally, one devil, badly wounded and exhausted, spirals down next to the archway. It is pursued by another, larger devil, who has smashed the wing and weapons of the smaller one.
Limping back, the smaller devil cannot avoid a crushing blow from its adversary. It is knocked sprawling, and directly at hand there is a weapon- a mace! It raises it up, blocking the death blow, and sweeps its attacker’s feet out from under it. The two struggle for a moment, and the smaller devil sweeps his new mace into the larger devil’s face, smashing him down.
For a moment the wounded little devil stands over the body of his assailant. He is shaky and wounded. He glances upward; there is a battle he should be participating in going on up there, but...
He looks around at the carnage. He looks at the blood on his hands.
He looks at his new mace.
Anger flares, but not the constant hateful rage he usually feels. This is more... righteous. He will not partake of the slaughter today. He has had enough of it.
He storms away. The mace of St. John continues its work.
Next Time: Our heroes have escaped from Hell- but they aren’t quite done in their dealings with Glaisig. What will be... their reward?
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Greybar
No Trouble at All
Hmm. Now at half their numbers, most of their top spells and scrolls already spent, and it looks like a dragon was waiting for someone on the escape route.
Nah... I'm sure Lucifer will be a nice guy. Right?
(How many Spheres of Annihilation scrolls is Orbius packing, anyway? Sounds like a good thing to have around. Any big downside?)
Nah... I'm sure Lucifer will be a nice guy. Right?
(How many Spheres of Annihilation scrolls is Orbius packing, anyway? Sounds like a good thing to have around. Any big downside?)
the Jester
Legend
Greybar said:
Several scrolls, and he was packing several of the spell (sphere of ultimate destruction). It's not quite as deadly as an actual sphere of annihilation- check it out, it's in Complete Arcane (converted from the 2e PO: S&M book).
Cheiromancer
Adventurer
I take it that from the other party's point of view it was our heroes who faded out?
It is very smooth, how you got them to part with the Rod of Hell and the Mace of St. John. And good in-game reasoning as to how the portal is little-used; devils are not known for their humility!
A very nice update.
It is very smooth, how you got them to part with the Rod of Hell and the Mace of St. John. And good in-game reasoning as to how the portal is little-used; devils are not known for their humility!
A very nice update.
Greybar
No Trouble at All
Oh, and I'd love to see your take on Asmodeus in your monstrous thread. Obviously you've advanced him using 3.5 epic rules instead of the BoVD book version - besides the risk that your players might be a bit too familiar with the book version of him.
Man - plowing through pit fiends like they were mooks - that's a definite sign of epic level play.
Man - plowing through pit fiends like they were mooks - that's a definite sign of epic level play.
the Jester
Legend
Greybar said:
Let me just reiterate- pit fiends with +5 everything.
Brain
First Post
The parting with the Mace of St. John was very smooth on James' part. I even unwittingly supplied a perfect reason for it to be left behind. Inoke humbled himself by asking the Mace to lead him through the portal as it had led him spiritually. The mace was an interesting NPC to talk to and very outspoken compared to Inoke's helmet that speaks to him only rarely. (how many of you even know or recall that his helmet is sentient?)
hippiejedi2
First Post
Well Done J
Perhaps you could post stats for some of the baddies, somewhere else of course, I remember the dragon encountered on the escape was tough.
Instead of looting Assmodeus & company we should have looted the pit fiends. By loot that meant we took the corpses with us. Our party got Martinet and Assmodeus, the Erathians got Glasya.
Perhaps you could post stats for some of the baddies, somewhere else of course, I remember the dragon encountered on the escape was tough.
Instead of looting Assmodeus & company we should have looted the pit fiends. By loot that meant we took the corpses with us. Our party got Martinet and Assmodeus, the Erathians got Glasya.
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the Jester
Legend
Odds & Ends
3/30/371 O.L.G., Noon, Var[/b]
Spring in Var. The trees are beautiful, much fuller than they were just a few years ago. The scars of Fuligin’s time fade slowly. New life is budding everywhere. Little chicks are chirping in the trees. Young men and women are courting.
And the Devil is dead.
Oh, sure, another will take his place; and maybe someday that other- let’s call him the Big L for now, eh?- will come to be recognized as the Devil; but until then, our heroes can bask in triumph. No challenge they have ever overthrown has left them feeling like this before. No dungeon, villain or adventure has written their names in the history books for all times until now.
They killed Asmodeus and lived to tell the tale.
Quite a list you guys are accumulating there, fellas. Between the various accomplishments of our heroes, they have been the destroyers of Acererak the demilich, Fuligin, Felenga (the Dark One), the fiend of Blendorag, Imix (Prince of Elemental Evil Fire), Lithos the black dragon... and now Asmodeus. All powerful beings capable of shaping history- and all now of them have been slain by our heroes.
What’s next?
When a sending from Glaisig reaches them, telling the party that he will bring them their reward the next day, the party puts their heads together and discusses things. The idea of betraying Glaisig is brought up more than once, but Lester points out that there’s got to be someone in charge in Hell. At least with Lucifer (‘the Big L’) it is a known quantity and someone who has pledged to respect Cydra for a long time.
They mass teleport into the hills out of town, some 40 miles north by northwest of Var. They are arguably in Ketzia now; that should prevent any repercussions from harming Malford’s kingdom. There they set up camp.
***
Alcar seeks solitude. Seated upon a high flat rock, he closes his eyes and turns his face to the afternoon sun. He sighs.
Once, he had a powerful magic backpack- a backpack of infinite food. It was lost to him over a decade ago, but he still seeks it. He must earn it back from his superiors in Heaven. Inwardly, he scoffs- the bureaucracy is offensively pervasive. Galador Himself has given Alcar his blessings in the past. Why can’t the bureaucrats see that he’s okay, that he’s walking the path and helping people? All he wants is the return of his backpack- surely the killing of Asmodeus makes him worthy of that! Alcar breathes deep, stilling his mind. Deeper and deeper he falls into prayer. Eventually, he communes.
Is there anyone in Heaven I can speak with for the return of my backpack? No.
Have I done anything to be worthy of the consideration of the return of it in the last few days? Yes.
Is there anyone on the Material Plane I can talk with about this? Yes.
On Dorhaus? Yes.
In Var? No.
In Ketzia? Yes.
Within a mile? Yes.
Would they consider me a heretic? Maybe.
Are they at the closest temple of Galador? No.
Is it the King of the Faeries? No.
Is it a fey? No.
A celestial? No.
A mortal? Yes.
If I fly west will I find them? No.
Descending from the divine trance, Alcar lets out a deep exhalation. Within a mile, he thinks, startled. But who could it be?
***
While they wait for Glaisig to make his appearance, Orbius identifies the loot that they have. It includes a variety of interesting items, including a staff of paralysis, an amulet of natural armor +4, +2 unholy speed glaive, ring of protection +5, ring of wizardry (3rd level), a mirror of scrying, bracers of armor +4, ring of concentration +10 and gauntlets of poison.
Then, finally, the devil appears, dressed differently than they’ve seen him. Though fashionable, he had been faded; now his clothes are glossy with newness. He smiles at the party. A large sack is at his side.
”Thank you again, my friends, for doing my master’s work,” he says.
“We aren’t your friends, and I’m sure whatever deal you have for us is something we’ll reject, so can we just get on with it?” Horbin, clutching his new staff of paralysis grimaces.
“I come to offer no deal, my friends; only gifts- gifts from my Master.”
“We want no gifts from devils!” exclaims Alcar.
“Hey, hold on a second, what kind of gifts? Speak for yourself, not for me,” retorts Gerontius.
“Items of great and singular power.”
“Hmm... I like items,” Gerontius declares.
“There, you see?” Glaisig says to Horbin, his tone soothing. “Surely you would not deny my gifts to your friends. Decline if you must, but at least let me show you first.” Slowly, he reaches into the bag. When he withdraws his hand he holds a dagger, which he presents to Gerontius. The halfling almost swoons as a sense of the deadly power in it floods through him.
“Wow,” Gerontius croaks. He examines the dagger closely. “This is great. It wants to kill undead, elementals, oozes and constructs!”
Glaisig smiles broadly, thanking each of them for their aid in serving his Master. Each of them receives a gift; even Horbin accepts a mace.
And when it is Alcar’s turn, Glaisig pulls a backpack from his bag. The half-celestial gasps.
”You have wanted this for a long time,” the fiend purrs. “A backpack of infinite food. Think of how many lives you might save, how many hungry people you might feed with that.”
“Is it... my backpack?”
“It is now,” Glaisig tells him somberly.
With a trembling hand, Alcar touches the backpack, then lets his hand fall. He looks again at Glaisig. “It is my backpack, the one I carried for so long?”
“No-“
Alcar lets fall his hand. He takes a deep breath.
“I do not want it. I don’t need any gift from any devil, Asmodeus or Lucifer or- or whomever! And all of you“ -He turns a wrathful eye on the others- “you’d better be careful with those things! You can’t trust these guys! Don’t forget that!”
“We’ll be careful,” Gerontius promises.
“There is no taint of evil on the items he gave us,” points of Sir Maxwell. Alcar only shakes his head.
***
In the end, the rewards (for those who took them) include*:
Gerontius- dagger +4, bane vs. undead, oozes, constructs and elementals)
Sir Maxwell- silveriron +6 war hammer
Sybele- a magical quiver; arrows pulled from it penetrate any DR except DR x/-
Horbin- heavy mace +6 that gives +2 to turning attempts
Lillamere- a pair of gloves that adds 4 to the DCs of his spells against lawful targets
Inoke- adamantine axiomatic defending +5 Heavy Mace that grants a +2 Luck bonus to saving throws
Orbius- Glaisig shows him the location of a sphere of annihilation, hidden far away.
Lester- sunglasses of true seeing
Alcar is the only one to actually turn his proffered gift down; however, Horbin gives the mace to Till, his long-time shield boy.
***
The next several months are spent in a variety of pursuits. Horbin begins investigating the legal status of Blendorag. The idea of claiming it as a sanctuary of some kind, and cleaning and sanctifying it, is very appealing. He starts researching all the necessary rituals. To close the Stinking Pit would be another triumph!
Lillamere administers his demesnes and enjoying the time off. He sends N’Sari away on a quest to find artifacts of the lost Ancient Elves.
Veil spends thousands of gold pieces trying to track down a fruit of the Vuivui tree after Lester tells her about one of his old adventures. He and his companions at the time- Thimbleton and Malford were there, some 60,000 miles away, on the Isle of Vuivui. (That adventure was also where Lester and his party first met Hobbes, now a tabaxi leader on Dorhaus.) In any event, a strange slaad named Vuivui dwelt on the isle, near a tree that gave fruit of Chaos.
”There was some kind of test involved, too, but I can’t recall anything else to tell you,” Lester had finished, and Veil had proceeded to work at tracking such things down. Though it appears that King Malford- at the time a Baron- had once briefly cultivated one, Fuligin’s coming destroyed any trace of it. No other reference can be found, save those deriving from Lester’s adventure. Veil sighs. 60,000 miles is a huge distance. According to Lester, the sun was off to the side, rather than directly overhead. Veil can’t even imagine what that would be like- but she wants to find that tree.
She sets to work pestering her teleporting friends.
Sybele spends some of the spring on Tirchond, some time on Pesh and the majority of her time on Dorhaus. She visits the dwarf mage-smith Fandral, who delivers unto her the chain shirt he had offered to craft so long ago. When it develops that the party has lost the blades he forged for them in Bile Mountain- is it still called Angelfire Mountain?- he becomes incensed, and demands that they not return to him without his craftsmanship in hand.
Sybele also spends some time being a mother to her young twins, which she hasn’t seen in months. She can’t remember their names, anyway. Her reunion with Thrush is joyful and quickly leads to some hot nooky.
Throughout the spring, the Delphinate issues a series of sendings to all the high-level spellcasters invited to the conference of spellcasters. The time is coming for the conference. It will occur towards the end of the seventh month, Hotmonth. It appears to be an effort to set the rules of war for magic, though what it will turn into once it is in session remains to be seen. Horbin, Lillamere, Lester and Orbius all determine to go, and they invite their friends as bodyguards.
“Are bodyguards allowed?” asks Inoke.
Lillamere shrugs. “Well, I’m taking some. And I really doubt whether Prayzose or the Delphin will go anywhere without one.”
“Are they going to be there?” Inoke exclaims.
“Well, I hope so.” Lillamere gives a wan smile. “If this is going to count, they kind of have to be.”
Perhaps most important in the long run, during this period of time the party stumbles across information leading them to believe a terrible thing: the sun’s orbit is developing a wobble. An eccentric astronomer named Professor Ledris shows them reams of calculations and drawings. It will take thousands of years, perhaps tens of thousands, but the seasons are the result of this wobble; and they will become more and more pronounced as time goes on. It will not be noticeable for many generations, but it is certainly something worth thinking about.
Horbin verifies the wobble with a commune. This commune also reveals a few other interesting tidbits. Among his most interesting bits:
Is there conflict between Dexter the Son of Galador, and His Father? Yes.
Is the wobbling of the sun the result of evil or malice? Yes.
Is it related to the Death of Asmodeus? No.
Are the Bile Lords keeping track of us? No.
Have the Bile Lords reproduced? Not yet.
Is Hell currently in turmoil due to the death of Asmodeus? Yes.
Is there a likely victor any time in the next 100 years? Uncertain.
Is there active revenge being plotted against the killers of Asmodeus? Unknown.
When he is done, he purses his lips thoughtfully. Another thing I must do, he thinks, is contact the Tiger Empress.
The Tiger Lands, east of the Bendrock Mountains, are her territory. She is at war with Horbin’s King, Malford, mostly over the rich territory of Goldstone. She certainly has a better technical claim on it based on bloodlines- but in the wilderness of post-Fuligin Dorhaus, Malford’s people got there first, before she even laid a claim.
Horbin issues her a sending, requesting an audience. He receives a courteous, noncommittal reply: We are very busy. When time allows we will contact you.
Horbin shrugs. Good enough. In the meantime, it’s become summer, and the conference of spellcasters is bound to be soon.
Lester and Orbius hang out at the Temple of Elemental Good, teaching and having a good time. Orbius crafts a few items during this period, but it’s a pretty laid-back spring. Lester, as always, has plenty of groupies.
Then, one day, the casters receive a sending from the Delphin’s agents. We will contact you in 24 hours with the coordinates. Wherever they are- in the Temple of Elemental Good, in the Citadel of Eternity, in Brelana, in Forinthia, in the Halls of Healing, in the northern reaches of Dorhaus- those contacted set to making preparations of one sort or another. A few will not go; most will.
And there will be at least one gate crasher.
Next Time: The Conference of Spellcasters!
*I need to check in with the pcs in several cases- will try to fill this in over time!
3/30/371 O.L.G., Noon, Var[/b]
Spring in Var. The trees are beautiful, much fuller than they were just a few years ago. The scars of Fuligin’s time fade slowly. New life is budding everywhere. Little chicks are chirping in the trees. Young men and women are courting.
And the Devil is dead.
Oh, sure, another will take his place; and maybe someday that other- let’s call him the Big L for now, eh?- will come to be recognized as the Devil; but until then, our heroes can bask in triumph. No challenge they have ever overthrown has left them feeling like this before. No dungeon, villain or adventure has written their names in the history books for all times until now.
They killed Asmodeus and lived to tell the tale.
Quite a list you guys are accumulating there, fellas. Between the various accomplishments of our heroes, they have been the destroyers of Acererak the demilich, Fuligin, Felenga (the Dark One), the fiend of Blendorag, Imix (Prince of Elemental Evil Fire), Lithos the black dragon... and now Asmodeus. All powerful beings capable of shaping history- and all now of them have been slain by our heroes.
What’s next?
When a sending from Glaisig reaches them, telling the party that he will bring them their reward the next day, the party puts their heads together and discusses things. The idea of betraying Glaisig is brought up more than once, but Lester points out that there’s got to be someone in charge in Hell. At least with Lucifer (‘the Big L’) it is a known quantity and someone who has pledged to respect Cydra for a long time.
They mass teleport into the hills out of town, some 40 miles north by northwest of Var. They are arguably in Ketzia now; that should prevent any repercussions from harming Malford’s kingdom. There they set up camp.
***
Alcar seeks solitude. Seated upon a high flat rock, he closes his eyes and turns his face to the afternoon sun. He sighs.
Once, he had a powerful magic backpack- a backpack of infinite food. It was lost to him over a decade ago, but he still seeks it. He must earn it back from his superiors in Heaven. Inwardly, he scoffs- the bureaucracy is offensively pervasive. Galador Himself has given Alcar his blessings in the past. Why can’t the bureaucrats see that he’s okay, that he’s walking the path and helping people? All he wants is the return of his backpack- surely the killing of Asmodeus makes him worthy of that! Alcar breathes deep, stilling his mind. Deeper and deeper he falls into prayer. Eventually, he communes.
Is there anyone in Heaven I can speak with for the return of my backpack? No.
Have I done anything to be worthy of the consideration of the return of it in the last few days? Yes.
Is there anyone on the Material Plane I can talk with about this? Yes.
On Dorhaus? Yes.
In Var? No.
In Ketzia? Yes.
Within a mile? Yes.
Would they consider me a heretic? Maybe.
Are they at the closest temple of Galador? No.
Is it the King of the Faeries? No.
Is it a fey? No.
A celestial? No.
A mortal? Yes.
If I fly west will I find them? No.
Descending from the divine trance, Alcar lets out a deep exhalation. Within a mile, he thinks, startled. But who could it be?
***
While they wait for Glaisig to make his appearance, Orbius identifies the loot that they have. It includes a variety of interesting items, including a staff of paralysis, an amulet of natural armor +4, +2 unholy speed glaive, ring of protection +5, ring of wizardry (3rd level), a mirror of scrying, bracers of armor +4, ring of concentration +10 and gauntlets of poison.
Then, finally, the devil appears, dressed differently than they’ve seen him. Though fashionable, he had been faded; now his clothes are glossy with newness. He smiles at the party. A large sack is at his side.
”Thank you again, my friends, for doing my master’s work,” he says.
“We aren’t your friends, and I’m sure whatever deal you have for us is something we’ll reject, so can we just get on with it?” Horbin, clutching his new staff of paralysis grimaces.
“I come to offer no deal, my friends; only gifts- gifts from my Master.”
“We want no gifts from devils!” exclaims Alcar.
“Hey, hold on a second, what kind of gifts? Speak for yourself, not for me,” retorts Gerontius.
“Items of great and singular power.”
“Hmm... I like items,” Gerontius declares.
“There, you see?” Glaisig says to Horbin, his tone soothing. “Surely you would not deny my gifts to your friends. Decline if you must, but at least let me show you first.” Slowly, he reaches into the bag. When he withdraws his hand he holds a dagger, which he presents to Gerontius. The halfling almost swoons as a sense of the deadly power in it floods through him.
“Wow,” Gerontius croaks. He examines the dagger closely. “This is great. It wants to kill undead, elementals, oozes and constructs!”
Glaisig smiles broadly, thanking each of them for their aid in serving his Master. Each of them receives a gift; even Horbin accepts a mace.
And when it is Alcar’s turn, Glaisig pulls a backpack from his bag. The half-celestial gasps.
”You have wanted this for a long time,” the fiend purrs. “A backpack of infinite food. Think of how many lives you might save, how many hungry people you might feed with that.”
“Is it... my backpack?”
“It is now,” Glaisig tells him somberly.
With a trembling hand, Alcar touches the backpack, then lets his hand fall. He looks again at Glaisig. “It is my backpack, the one I carried for so long?”
“No-“
Alcar lets fall his hand. He takes a deep breath.
“I do not want it. I don’t need any gift from any devil, Asmodeus or Lucifer or- or whomever! And all of you“ -He turns a wrathful eye on the others- “you’d better be careful with those things! You can’t trust these guys! Don’t forget that!”
“We’ll be careful,” Gerontius promises.
“There is no taint of evil on the items he gave us,” points of Sir Maxwell. Alcar only shakes his head.
***
In the end, the rewards (for those who took them) include*:
Gerontius- dagger +4, bane vs. undead, oozes, constructs and elementals)
Sir Maxwell- silveriron +6 war hammer
Sybele- a magical quiver; arrows pulled from it penetrate any DR except DR x/-
Horbin- heavy mace +6 that gives +2 to turning attempts
Lillamere- a pair of gloves that adds 4 to the DCs of his spells against lawful targets
Inoke- adamantine axiomatic defending +5 Heavy Mace that grants a +2 Luck bonus to saving throws
Orbius- Glaisig shows him the location of a sphere of annihilation, hidden far away.
Lester- sunglasses of true seeing
Alcar is the only one to actually turn his proffered gift down; however, Horbin gives the mace to Till, his long-time shield boy.
***
The next several months are spent in a variety of pursuits. Horbin begins investigating the legal status of Blendorag. The idea of claiming it as a sanctuary of some kind, and cleaning and sanctifying it, is very appealing. He starts researching all the necessary rituals. To close the Stinking Pit would be another triumph!
Lillamere administers his demesnes and enjoying the time off. He sends N’Sari away on a quest to find artifacts of the lost Ancient Elves.
Veil spends thousands of gold pieces trying to track down a fruit of the Vuivui tree after Lester tells her about one of his old adventures. He and his companions at the time- Thimbleton and Malford were there, some 60,000 miles away, on the Isle of Vuivui. (That adventure was also where Lester and his party first met Hobbes, now a tabaxi leader on Dorhaus.) In any event, a strange slaad named Vuivui dwelt on the isle, near a tree that gave fruit of Chaos.
”There was some kind of test involved, too, but I can’t recall anything else to tell you,” Lester had finished, and Veil had proceeded to work at tracking such things down. Though it appears that King Malford- at the time a Baron- had once briefly cultivated one, Fuligin’s coming destroyed any trace of it. No other reference can be found, save those deriving from Lester’s adventure. Veil sighs. 60,000 miles is a huge distance. According to Lester, the sun was off to the side, rather than directly overhead. Veil can’t even imagine what that would be like- but she wants to find that tree.
She sets to work pestering her teleporting friends.
Sybele spends some of the spring on Tirchond, some time on Pesh and the majority of her time on Dorhaus. She visits the dwarf mage-smith Fandral, who delivers unto her the chain shirt he had offered to craft so long ago. When it develops that the party has lost the blades he forged for them in Bile Mountain- is it still called Angelfire Mountain?- he becomes incensed, and demands that they not return to him without his craftsmanship in hand.
Sybele also spends some time being a mother to her young twins, which she hasn’t seen in months. She can’t remember their names, anyway. Her reunion with Thrush is joyful and quickly leads to some hot nooky.
Throughout the spring, the Delphinate issues a series of sendings to all the high-level spellcasters invited to the conference of spellcasters. The time is coming for the conference. It will occur towards the end of the seventh month, Hotmonth. It appears to be an effort to set the rules of war for magic, though what it will turn into once it is in session remains to be seen. Horbin, Lillamere, Lester and Orbius all determine to go, and they invite their friends as bodyguards.
“Are bodyguards allowed?” asks Inoke.
Lillamere shrugs. “Well, I’m taking some. And I really doubt whether Prayzose or the Delphin will go anywhere without one.”
“Are they going to be there?” Inoke exclaims.
“Well, I hope so.” Lillamere gives a wan smile. “If this is going to count, they kind of have to be.”
Perhaps most important in the long run, during this period of time the party stumbles across information leading them to believe a terrible thing: the sun’s orbit is developing a wobble. An eccentric astronomer named Professor Ledris shows them reams of calculations and drawings. It will take thousands of years, perhaps tens of thousands, but the seasons are the result of this wobble; and they will become more and more pronounced as time goes on. It will not be noticeable for many generations, but it is certainly something worth thinking about.
Horbin verifies the wobble with a commune. This commune also reveals a few other interesting tidbits. Among his most interesting bits:
Is there conflict between Dexter the Son of Galador, and His Father? Yes.
Is the wobbling of the sun the result of evil or malice? Yes.
Is it related to the Death of Asmodeus? No.
Are the Bile Lords keeping track of us? No.
Have the Bile Lords reproduced? Not yet.
Is Hell currently in turmoil due to the death of Asmodeus? Yes.
Is there a likely victor any time in the next 100 years? Uncertain.
Is there active revenge being plotted against the killers of Asmodeus? Unknown.
When he is done, he purses his lips thoughtfully. Another thing I must do, he thinks, is contact the Tiger Empress.
The Tiger Lands, east of the Bendrock Mountains, are her territory. She is at war with Horbin’s King, Malford, mostly over the rich territory of Goldstone. She certainly has a better technical claim on it based on bloodlines- but in the wilderness of post-Fuligin Dorhaus, Malford’s people got there first, before she even laid a claim.
Horbin issues her a sending, requesting an audience. He receives a courteous, noncommittal reply: We are very busy. When time allows we will contact you.
Horbin shrugs. Good enough. In the meantime, it’s become summer, and the conference of spellcasters is bound to be soon.
Lester and Orbius hang out at the Temple of Elemental Good, teaching and having a good time. Orbius crafts a few items during this period, but it’s a pretty laid-back spring. Lester, as always, has plenty of groupies.
Then, one day, the casters receive a sending from the Delphin’s agents. We will contact you in 24 hours with the coordinates. Wherever they are- in the Temple of Elemental Good, in the Citadel of Eternity, in Brelana, in Forinthia, in the Halls of Healing, in the northern reaches of Dorhaus- those contacted set to making preparations of one sort or another. A few will not go; most will.
And there will be at least one gate crasher.
Next Time: The Conference of Spellcasters!
*I need to check in with the pcs in several cases- will try to fill this in over time!
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