Cydra: the Early Years

[the Jester]

Oh, THAT book!

At least the loot was good, reflected Old Man Malford.

Among other things, the party recovered a powerful pair of magical gauntlets. Called gauntlets of absorption, they would absorb any fireballs or lightning bolts that the wearer was caught in, turning them into a short-lived burst of physical strength. With his limbs failing with age, Malford ended up taking them.

***

10/28/97 O.L.G., 2 p.m., Mirsa

Pandos stood in a silent guard over Dexter- both guarding him against harm and guarding against any treachery that he might attempt. The Church of the Light was not pleased with his recent sermon, and had they had their way, they would have inflicted far worse penalties than simply a warden. But Pandos was a loyal son of Thule as well as of the church, and Thule supported Dexter. The paladin would have to tread carefully to make his way between his commitments to both church and state without breaking either.

Dexter opened his eyes, his prayer done. He turned to Pandos and spoke. The mute read his lips.

The book is in a private collection, not the church here.

Well, that explained at least one piece of Dexter’s dream.

***

6 p.m.

The owner of the book was named Korlach, and when the party approached him, they were shocked and disappointed to realize that the book they were trying to protect- a very old copy of the Galadron, the holy book of the Light- was gone. They were too late.

“Based on Korlach’s description, they were Strogassians,” said Lochenvare.

Dexter used a thought capture- which allowed him to pluck a strong thought from the surrounding area. “They were going to take it back to Strogass to destroy it,” he announced.

“To a place called the Hill of Skulls.”

Next Time: Our heroes head towards faraway Strogass!

 

[the Jester]

Let me just say that I am incredibly glad that I write my story hours up in Word before posting them these days...

My plan: one post per day (in one or more of my SH threads) until the old posts are all back in place, and then more- presumably by that time, I'll have a few new ones written and be able to leapfrog forward...

 

[the Jester]

Strogass, the Dark Continent. Very little was known about it; it was far to the east, and it was said to be a land ruled by Bleak and his servants. That agents of Strogass should travel so far, probably about ten thousand miles, to snatch up ancient Galadorian holy writings- was unthinkable.

Yet they had done it, and (although our heroes would not realize it for months) they had done it to draw Dexter (and his companions, but really Dexter) to the Dark Continent. Nor had their evil plans reached their fullness. Though nobody could have foreseen it yet, their success could summon the terrible scourged known as the Tarrasque to Forinthia.

The journey would be long and hard. Our heroes picked up many allies along the way, strong and weak, stout and faint-hearted. All of the heroes they could find. For they were headed to the Hill of Skulls.

None of them knew anything about it; it was a mystery. Yet its very name was more than ominous; it was downright threatening. The Hill of Skulls. How literal is that? worried Dexter.

Rajah knew all too well that he was taking an awful risk in heading to Strogass. But the risks of staying were great, too; Emperor Tovan Kinslayer, his uncle, had agents pursuing and attempting to assassinate him. Elcruche and his cronies were never far behind the Tiger Prince. The Wotanian agents were deadly competent and utterly fearless. One was some sort of blue-scaled, winged, dragon-like creature. Another was a small halfling female all in black. An orcish shaman with a long, thick spear accompanied them, too, wearing armor of bones. There were more, too; but those were Elcruche’s main people. And they were no laughing matter.

The party made for the sea and then for Forinthia. On the way they fought a party of bounty hunters out for Rajah’s blood. They had been lured by a bounty placed on our heroes by Elcruche. I’m leaving just in time; things are getting hot, Rajah thought, and frowned. I can’t let this continue. Someday, I must confront my uncle. This will continue until I do.

The journey to Forinthia was a long one; upon reaching the island, and the city of Port Lofrax, our heroes disembarked. Dexter was recognized often at first, but then went about hooded. It was too late. Things were stirring around him, as well. Pandos the Mute stood fast by his side, always watching his every action- always judging his behavior. The Church was cool to Dexter, at best polite; but those who heard the Voice- ahh, those people believed. They heard him speak with the voice of Galador. How could they not have faith?

Yet his mind would flash back, from time to time, to his confrontation with High Priest Spadron, and the shocking discovery that Spadron could use the Voice as well- and denounced Dexter in it. The Voice was no sure protection. Especially with his past.

The party visited Valkor the water wizard, whom they had first met when he hired them to investigate the Coral Caves. He was wryly pleased to see them, despite their relatively new notoriety. He commiserated with Malford about his aged status. “Some legends claim there is a fountain of youth somewhere in the Great Redwood Forest on Valonia,” he mused. Malford and Dexter exchanged a glance. It was on the way, but...

“Isn’t there a dragon there?” asked Drelvin.

“Oh, yes,” Valkor nodded gravely. “Brespicacious the Amethyst. She dwells in the Snowy Peaks. She has taught the orcs of Valonia a thing or two in her time!”

Our heroes mulled this over. “It’s not much of a diversion, and I’m not worth much as I am,” Malford groaned bitterly.

“Were you ever?” quipped Lochenvare with a crooked grin.

“I don’t know how much time we have, but we should stop for a look,” said Dexter.

So they sailed on towards Valonia, on their way to the Dark Continent of Strogass.

Next Time: Our heroes begin acquiring more allies on their quest- and they suffer... Murder Most Foul!

 

[the Jester]

Therena insisted on a stop-off in Pesh along the way, hoping to track down the descendants of someone named Jones who had worn a magical artifact called the bracelet of eyes, but the attempt was fruitless. While they were there, however, Therena was becoming more and more worried about the behavior of Lochenvare.

We won’t accept any new evil companions, she thought, yet Baron Malford allows Lochenvare to travel with us, and he is clearly evil! Obviously, it is possible that Dexter will redeem him- in fact, from what I have been told, he is almost teetering on the border- but his propensity for violence worries me. It seems that, were Malford and Dexter not here to shepherd him, he would turn corrupt in a moment. She pursed her lips. I must watch him closely. If they do not see it, it is because they have been his friends for too long. He could be a danger to them... a grave danger.

So she kept her eye on the fighter. His violent sense of humor, his mercenary attitude- both of these worried her. And with her liege lord, Malford, now aged by the party’s encounter with the ghost and the groaning spirit, she worried about what effects Lochenvare’s evil might be able to have. Might he not kill the baron in his sleep when he was on watch some night? Was it not possible that he could turn on them at any moment, if he were evil? What if Elcruche and his cronies offered him money to betray the party and turn over Rajah?

Grimly, Therena watched. And more and more, her own paranoia, perhaps fueled by the necromantic energies that she wielded as Malford’s court wizard, began to steer her to the place where she feared Lochenvare was going.

***

2/15/98 O.L.G., noon, the northwest coast of Valonia

At last reaching the huge continent of Valonia, the party made landfall, replenished their water and food stores, and set out for the Great Redwood Forest a mile or two inland. It was there that the rumors placed the Fountain of Youth.

But the forest was huge. Our heroes had no idea, until they entered it; and once within, they found themselves surrounded by giant trees that seemed to go on forever into the sky. The light beneath their limbs was cool and dappled with amber motes of dust; ferns and the smell of loam were everywhere. Toadstools grew from mounds of soft gentle earth.

They moved in, determining to spend a few days or weeks looking for the fountain before proceeding with Dexter’s quest for the stolen book. As they moved along, they were met- via trump- by an abjurer named Proctor Mansack. He was an agent of General Rygarh. He came with a warning for Rajah: “Elcruche and his men are still after you. They aren’t far behind you, either; they followed Therena’s trail on Pesh. They may even know where you are now.”

“We need to deal with them,” Rajah growled. “Once and for all!”

“I agree,” Lochenvare smirked. “We should kill them and use their bodies to teach a message to the Emperor of Wotan: leave us alone, or else!”

Proctor joined them to aid in defending Rajah. The group tromped deeper into the wild forest of ancient trees. Here and there, as they traveled, they began to see occasional signs of elves and hadozee, gliding monkeys that laired high in the redwoods. Soon enough a group of the monkeys launched themselves out of the treetops, gliding on great skin flaps that stretched from their wrists to their ankles and chattering and hooting angrily. Our heroes fought them off.

“From what I’ve heard, these monkeys and the elves hate each other,” Drelvin remarked, landing an arrow between the eyes of the last of the hadozee. “I think they may even eat one another.”

“That’s gross!” declares Therena.

Lyr used to do that, Dexter thinks. Or at least, she ate the hearts of her enemies. He shudders.

With disturbing equanimity, Lochenvare says, “You do what you have to.”

***

4/17/98 O.L.G., 1 p.m., within the Great Redwood Forest, Valonia

The fateful attack, made by orcs, came in the middle of the day. Though orcs are normally nighttime creatures, the dappled light that penetrated the thick branches of the redwoods was not enough to inconvenience them, and they came charging out as arrogantly as orcs ever are. There were a dozen of them, two of them hanging back with bows. They were formidable mostly because of their organization and their captain (who was a far better warrior than most orcs, and significantly more skilled than even Lochenvare!).*

Therena single-handedly wiped out most of the enemy with a fireball. The other orc swordsmen rushed in, meeting a deadly response from Lochenvare and Proctor, while Drelvin shot one of the archers to death.

But though the orcs spent their lives, they wounded Lochenvare fairly badly. When he sprang forth with his peryton-horned trident to engage the orcish captain, the orc drew forth a glowing bastard sword and, after a few fierce minutes of combat, struck him unconscious!

The captain laughed and pressed the party. Therena hit him with a vampiric touch, then fled back from his swinging sword. Drelvin fired point blank at him, and the orc screamed as the shaft lanced into his left lung. Bloody froth flew from his mouth. Drelvin fired again, and this time the arrow shot into his mouth and out the back of his neck. The orc staggered back a few paces like a drunken fool, and then collapsed into a spurting pile of bloody orc-flesh.

The last few orcish archers shouted back and forth in anger and despair and kept firing arrows at the party. Proctor Mansack’s magical defenses helped fend off any real damage, but the barrage of missiles certainly kept our heroes focused on them.

Or most of our heroes, anyway. Therena used the confusion of the battle to pawn her wand of magic missiles. The time had come, she felt, to take decisive action. She rushed up to Lochenvare’s unconscious form and reached up to his throat, as if checking for a pulse.

She fired a magic missile into the underside of the unconscious Lochenvare’s neck.

“He’s dead!” she cried. “They killed Lochenvare!”

Next Time: Will the party realize Therena’s duplicity? What will she do next? What will they do next? Stay tuned for more!!

 

[the Jester]

Twang! Another of Drelvin’s arrows took the last orc in the right eye. With a scream of agony the humanoid collapsed.

Meanwhile, Dexter and Malford rushed over to Lochenvare. Therena stepped away from the fighter, her heart pounding. I couldn’t let him go any further down the path of evil, she thought, and What have I done?

“It’s too late,” groaned Dex after a moment’s inspection of the corpse. “He’s gone.”

Old Man Malford grimaced. “We should bury him,” he said slowly.

“First let’s make sure that these orcs are all dead,” Drelvin said, beginning to check the bodies. Malford shook his head. Drelvin’s words should have- would have- come from Lochenvare.

***

6:45 p.m.

What have I done? Therena thought again. She stood somewhat apart from the others as they began to dig a grave. They were grieving heavily. It was almost as if the big man had actually been their friend. Dexter’s blind face was pinched. Malford was sitting on a stump, resting his aged back and staring off into space, his mouth pursed in grim reverie. The sun was going down.

Drelvin leaned on his shovel for a moment. “We won’t be done until after dark. Maybe we should wait until morning,” Drelvin opined as the shadows lengthened. Malford and Dexter nodded. Therena said nothing, brooding on her thoughts.

She waited until the night was deep, not much helping the party with any of the normal chores of setting camp. Then, as the rest of the group slept, the necromancer carefully penned a letter to her master, Malford, before abandoning her watch, trumping away to Var with the magic of one of the cards that Rajah had had Unso craft for the party.

***

Therena’s remaining days were short. Fearing that the rest of the party would come after her, she sought out a wizard who knew someone that could make an amulet of proof against detection and location for her. The wizard declared that his friend would need the hair of a svirfneblin, though- and the deep gnomes were always bald.

Undeterred by the challenge, Therena descended into the earth, seeking an underground city that had once belonged to an extinct race of Dark Men. She found it, and an undead creature called Necron with whom she did not share a language. She fought her way through a variety of enemies, including an owlbear and a carrion crawler ghoul, but in the end, even with her bat familiar, a dog and a homunculus she could not survive the rigors of the deeps. She died alone, on the run, in disgrace, as the others were seeking Pandos’ mount much later.

Next Time: Our heroes are beset by pirates! What an ironic turn of events, as they used to be pirates!!

 

[the Jester]

Betrayed by one of their own, bereft of Lochenvare and Therena both, our heroes retreated to the ship that they have commissioned to take them as far east as it will. The Great Redwood Forest had already proven dangerous; our heroes did not push their luck with two of their companions gone. Malford cursed Therena long and loud. “If we can find her,” he grimly said through gritted teeth, “we’ll try her and hang her.” He shook his head. “I can’t believe she betrayed us like that!”

Pandos the Mute sighed and made signs at him, until Malford understood the warden’s meaning: She was a necromancer, after all.

The ship set sail from Valonia, heading along the coast towards the far, southeastern edge of the continent. It would be there, amongst the halflings of the Glen Lands, that Captain Frakes would leave them.

But three days into their voyage, they were beset by pirates.

The captain of the pirates was a scowling man named Bereu, whose magic armor helped him swim across the gulf between the ships, and whose necklace of adaptation let him breathe underwater and thus approach unseen. The pirate attack was swift and vicious, and two of Frakes’ crew fell to the pirate cutlasses, as did one of Malford’s men. But our heroes, Captain Frakes, the crew and Malford’s men all acquitted themselves with valor, and soon the pirates (having little struggle for a fight to the death) were beaten off.

“That wasn’t too bad,” Rajah said cheerfully. Malford frowned at the bodies of the men he had lost.

Dexter paced nervously. “We have to hurry,” he muttered. “We have to hurry.” Increasingly, he was becoming more and more nervous about the fate of the book that the Strogassians had stolen. Whatever they wanted with it was surely blasphemous or worse. We must hurry! he thought to himself again.

The ship moved along, and all seemed well for a few more days. Wounds healed, repairs were made. But then disaster struck. Elcruche and his cronies pulled their greatest coup.

***

Elcruche was a half-elf who worked for the intelligence service of Imperial Wotan, and he and his cronies had been dogging the steps of Rajah for several years now. It wasn’t until fairly recently that Rajah had learned the truth: he was the rightful emperor of Wotan, and the currently sitting emperor, Tovan IV, had murdered Rajah’s father and the rest of his family, and tried to kill him as an infant! Somehow the baby had survived and wound up in the wilds of Gorel, where he had been raised by tigers; and when he finally did end up coming to civilization and learned to speak, he was immediately attacked by Elcruche. Since then Rajah had been running from them. The party had fought them to a standstill once before. This time, when Elcruche and his cronies made another attempt to capture Rajah for their Emperor, the party was forced to flee from their wrath. The Tiger Prince (as Rajah was increasingly being called) himself managed to get away, but barely; and in the furious battle, Malford had leapt into the breach to give Rajah time to escape, and the gnome had dueled with Elcruche. The half-elf agent fenced with admiral skill, and Malford found himself badly pressed. As Elcruche’s cutlass cracked down onto the crossed shortsword and dagger of his gnomish opponent, he smiled briefly, nodding acknowledgement to Malford’s skill. They danced back and forth over the battlefield for a minute, but then the half-elf struck Baron Malford down. The battle ended with Old Man Malford a prisoner.

Worse yet, the Wotanian agents captured the party’s boat with its sea helm. This was a demoralizing blow; without it, their progress towards far-off, legendary Strogass would be diminished to a relative snail’s pace. And having just lost Lochenvare, Therena and Malford...

“There’s no way that we can catch them when they have the sea helm,” Dexter groaned. His warden, Pandos the Mute, signed unhappy agreement. Dexter’s quest- to stop the defilement and eventual burning of an ancient copy of the Galadron- had to go on, with or without Malford.

***

Malford was taken through a sea gate and thence back to Imperial Wotan, where he was taken in a curtained cab into a deep place. His captors put him into an extraordinary subterranean prison, full of magical wards and highly-trained guardians. “The Tiger Gaol,” Elcruche explained. “It’s designed to hold Rajah against any escape attempt. I’m sure it will work to keep you contained as well.” He paused for a moment as Malford was pushed into his cell. “If there is anything reasonable that you need, please let us know. We plan to treat you in as civilized a manner as your behavior allows.”

“I’d like a copy of the Galadron,” Malford said.

Elcruche cocked an eyebrow. “Of course. I’ll have one sent in.”

As he turned to leave, Elcruche stopped and turned back. “Oh, and I believe the Emperor will be coming to pay you a visit.”

Malford’s Galadron arrived within the hour. He set about reading it, wondering when the Emperor would come- and what would happen to him.

Next Time: The party meets Wouhleeriachx, and he puts them in his mouth!

 

[the Jester]

Granted that it's been over a year and a half since the last update... but hey, here's one now!

As always, this SH will continue irregularly as time, other (more current) story hours and the availability of my old notes permit.

***


On the coast of Valonia, Dexter and company were in ill-spirits. With their amazing vessel, with its sea helm, in the grasp of Rajah’s enemies, there was no obvious way to make it to far-off, legendary Strogass quickly. They were not quite marooned on Valonia, but certainly, they might as well have been; any kind of hope for speed had been lost. They could spend weeks fighting carnivorous apes and glider-apes and make no progress towards their real goals.

They spent some time in a small coastal elven community, during which time Dexter found a sympathetic and lovely elven maiden named Elmarie all too willing to soothe his cares and caress away his worries. He laid with her but a single night, but the consequences of that night would echo through the centuries.

But as the party was nearly ready to give in to despair, Drelvin noticed something out to sea a little ways. “Look, a blow hole!” he cried. “It must be a whale. Maybe it can help us.”

Certainly, consulting a whale seemed to be as good an idea as anything else that the party had. They made their way out to sea using one of the small boats remaining to them, since the loss of their ship. Drelvin, Dexter, Rulsha (one of their surviving crewmen/bodyguards and Lochenvare’s girlfriend before his murder at the hands of Therena) and Rajah rowed out to meet the whale.

It kept its distance from them at first, wary of their intentions; but when they shouted a plea for help to it, it came closer and parlayed with them. Like most good creatures, the whale followed the faith of Galador, and when Dexter explained the nature of his quest- to prevent the destruction of certain ancient Galadorian sacred texts by agents of Bleak from Strogass- the whale (whose name was Wouhleeriachx) whistled and agreed to help them. “I wooooon’t goooo soooo far to the eeeeast,” the whale said in its odd cadence, “buuuut I have a frieeeeeeeeeeeend whooo might.”

“Really?” exclaimed Dexter. “That would be fantastic!”

“Cliiiiiimb in my mouth,” the whale offered, and it opened its huge, baleen-filled mouth.

“Uh,” Drelvin responded.

“I doooo not eeeeeat meeeeeat,” Wouhleeriachx assured them.

The party climbed in to the whale’s mouth.

***

Wouhleeriachx proved good to her word. She ferried them to her friend, a grey whale named Urmastirwol, who was also very sympathetic to the party’s mission. From one whale’s mouth to another, then, and our heroes were on their way- albeit by a very strange mode of transportation. Still, Urmastirwol was a tireless swimmer, awake or asleep, and friendly enough (and, interestingly, able to talk through his blow hole even while holding the party safe and dry in his mouth).

By the time they reached Strogass, our heroes were sick of the smell of whale, but they were nonetheless grateful for the trip, and they made sure to tell Urmastirwol as much. It was only as the whale spit them out in water as shallow as he dared swim that our heroes realized that they had no way to travel all those thousands of miles home.

Well, we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it, Dexter promised himself. If we survive our attack on this “Hill of Skulls” at all.

While Dexter was gloomy, Rajah was a little happier. At least I am out of Elcruche’s reach, he thought. I hope. I cannot imagine them coming this far for me...! He could not help but feel the slightest twinge of unease despite the distance separating him from his tyrannical uncle and his men.

***

Strogass was not very friendly. The land was rough, cracked, ragged and harsh. The plants were wiry, thorny, sickly and foul-smelling. The animals were dark, ill-tempered and aggressive. The air itself seemed tainted with a faint dirtiness, just enough to make it a little greyer than the air around Dorhaus or Forinthia or anywhere else our heroes have been.

Rulsha shook her head. “It’s a shame you can’t see this, Dex,” she said. “It’s a hell of a place- no pun intended.”

“I don’t really have to see it,” Dexter answered her. “I can feel it.”

They were only on Strogass for a short time when they faced their first enemies there.

Naked men with the heads of goats, entering battle in a state of obvious sexual arousal, the billymen were demons in service to Bleak. The party’s first clash with them began with only a pair of them- but they summoned more, who summoned more themselves. Quickly they multiplied in number, until our heroes were fighting for their lives against the horde of billymen. Only the most concerted efforts allowed them to throw back the assault and win victory. Then, when they sought a crack in the landscape to rest in, they were attacked by horrible centipede-like worms as big around as a dwarf and as long as a medium cottage. The worms’ mandibles proved to be fiendishly sharp, almost removing limbs in a single snip.

But our heroes managed to win through against them. Blade and spell and psionic power came together, smashing the tunnel worms to death. And then, in their lair, they found a most interesting flail, bearing the sigil of Galador, on an old dwarven corpse.

“Here?” exclaimed Rulsha doubtfully. “On Strogass?”

“Well, if you think about it, it’s more likely that we’d find it in a monster’s lair than anywhere else on Strogass,” Rajah pointed out. “And there have to be Galadorians working against Bleak here, just as there are Bleak-worshipers even on Forinthia.”

“True,” she agreed.

“It has runes down the side,” Drelvin said, running his fingers down it. “A name. Brainmasher.”

“I guess as long as it’s the brains of followers of Bleak,” Dexter said, but he sounded a little unsure of himself. “But it’s best to be sure.” He cast speak with dead on the dwarven skeleton, and ascertained that the flail was indeed a Galadorian relic; that the dead dwarf had been named Kellius in life; and that he had been on a quest to overthrow the Hill of Skulls himself. Some more searching, including digging up some of the dirt in the tunnel worms’ lair, turned up a map! Eagerly thrusting it at Drelvin, Dexter asked the others to examine it. Drelvin brushed as much dirt from it as he could without damaging the fragile parchment- then grinned.

“It’s on here! Now we know where to go! And it isn’t even very far away!”

They took the flail, and Dex was given possession of it. He had no intention of using it at the moment, but nobody else was more likely to do so than he was, and once they identified it, they could choose the best permanent recipient. But as nobody especially used the flail, and he was the only priest of Galador present... well, he was the logical choice.

***

The party continued their journey into the hills of Strogass. Behind them was a huge precipice; it looked- well, it looked like it could be miles high. Rajah shivered, staring at that. I always land on my feet, he thought, but from a fall that high... it wouldn’t matter! Soon the precipice and the buzzing fens at the base of it were left behind as the party entered a range of rolling dirty hills, with many areas of heavy scree and scattered boulders.

They moved carefully, trying to avoid patrols and dodge any monstrous encounters that they could. But as they approved the valley within which- assuming the map from Kellius was accurate- a group composed mostly of dwarves stepped out from a hidden crevice of their own.

Our heroes drew weapons and immediately dropped into fighting stances, but one of the newcomers cried out, “Peace!” He spoke Forinthian, but with a strange accent. “I know you! You are Dexter Nadly,” he continued, pointing at Dexter, “and we have been waiting for you.”

“Who are you?” demanded Dexter.

“I am Therighast, prophet and follower of the Light,” the man replied solemnly, “and we are here to help you overthrow the blasphemy that is the Hill of Skulls.”

Next Time: Into the Hill of Skulls!

 

[the Jester]

Therighast’s group was composed of two other groups of adventurers that had fused, all bent on aiding Dexter Nadly in his quest against the Hill of Skulls.* Therighast himself was a prophet of the Light, as well as a self-described thaumaturge.** He was accompanied by a band of adventurers, including Jenner Sandstone (a dwarven cleric of the Light who looked at Dexter most disapprovingly), Belmondo the Enhanced, a dwarven “prostheticist”, Julio Titan, Avenger of the Light (a paladin), Criedieki Alakath (a merellin fighter/thief), a necromancer calling himself Grisly (whose actual name was Nydroth), Glorkien (an elven fighter/mage), Galactus Ederverlds (an elf from a very far-flung location, who could not even speak with the others of his group) and Ilyara the mage.

Three bands of adventurers were now united. Each of them had one or more members who were moved by the Light to try to rescue the ancient holy scriptures that were to be destroyed within the Hill.

“This place is horrible,” Jenner grunted. “A blight on the land. It is atrociously evil.”

“Well, from the name,” Dexter began, but the dwarven cleric cut him off.

”Come look, you’ll see.” He turned abruptly and began marching towards the rise that would reveal the valley in which the Hill of Skulls was supposed to lay. Dexter turned to follow sightlessly, a small frown on his face.

“You should respect me,” he called out to Jenner, “I am the son of the Light.”

Jenner snorted. “So I have heard. But every son needs a good spanking now and then.”

Not quite sure how to respond to this gruff dwarven cleric, Dexter held his tongue. “You do recall, of course,” he said wryly, “that I have no eyes.”

Jenner halted. “Hmm. A good point. One of your companions should describe this to you.” He turned and began shouting at the rest of the party, who began straggling after the two Galadorians. “We’re still a good half mile off, but... well. You can see well enough.” He paused for a second. “Or your companions can.”

Dexter hears his friends move up and gasp at what they see. And then the stench hits him.

The Hill of Skulls stood below them, grim and foreboding. Its gruesome aspect made even the most stalwart amongst the entire massive party grow pale for a moment, for it was indeed a hill of skulls. The base of it was perhaps 300’ in diameter, and it rose to a height of about 100’. And it was skulls. Goat skulls, possibly of the demon-kind that our heroes have recently battled; human skulls everywhere; elven, dwarven, halfling, gnomish, orc, goblin, gnoll, bird, dog, cat, snake- even cow and garen skulls. Nor were they all stripped clean, especially at the base (though some meatier ones were scattered all the way up to the top). Tattered rags of skin, bloody muscle, here and there an eye; often hair, but just as often gone dry and brittle; some damaged, with brains dripping out the side of the pan or saved-in tops; some with chunks of flesh pecked out by the omnipresent vultures.

And they flocked there, the vultures. They were everywhere, some gobbling tongues and especially the soft, tasty eyes, and some of them merely sunning themselves on the grisly hill. Rats, too- up to the size of medium-sized dogs. They did not walk in fear there, not at all. Staining the ground out to a distance of almost 50’ around the obscene place was a thin film of blood.

“Do you see any guards?” Dexter asked.

“I don’t think so,” Rajah answered. “There’s something at the top, but I think it’s a structure, or a... I can’t tell at this distance.” His nose wrinkled in disgust at the stench rising from the Hill of Skulls. “That place is foul.”

“I have to go in,” Dexter said resolutely. He began to move forward. Nobody urged him to wait; instead, they all began to follow him. The party descended the hillside into the valley that lay host to the gruesome hill before them. As they approached, they could tell that the film of blood contained millions of dead insects. Before their eyes, a vulture tried to eat a particularly tasty-looking fly from the blood- but almost immediately after it swallowed the bloody insect, it gave a feeble cry, flapped once and collapsed, dead.

As they approached the Hill of Skulls, Dexter dropped back to Jenner. The dwarf eyed him dourly. “You are a cleric of the Light?” Dexter asked.

Jenner nodded.

“Here,” Dexter said, and handed over the flail Brainmasher to the dwarf. “I use my staff.”

Vermin scattered as the party approached the hill. The stink of the drying blood and putrefying flesh is everywhere, almost so nauseating that the heroes could not move, even at such a great distance. It made them gag; several of them retched violently, their stomachs spasming in reaction as if they were poisoned. Carefully, Dexter began to climb the sickening mound, his allies right behind him.

At the top of the Hill of Skulls they found a platform, about 10’ across, octagonal in form. In the exact center of it was an ornate throne, decorated with a spread-winged gargoyle as a headrest, with similar, claw-like arms. The whole platform was constructed of some kind of weird, purple-black stone. From the bottom of it descended six carved, gargoyle-like legs, which were jammed into the heads and skulls below it. The platform rested about four feet above the top of the Hill.

A cowled, robed figure dressed in midnight blue velvet and black leather gloves was seated on the throne. “I am the doorway,” the figure intoned.

“What?” said Jenner suspiciously.

“The ward of entry is on the pyramid. The pentagon is between the ones warded by light and fire. The quartz is in the north...”

“It’s a logic puzzle!” cried Rajah. “Someone write it down! Quick!”

“...the fire ward is next to the southwest. The onyx is facing the sixth one placed. The darkness ward is upon the ruby. The seventh one placed is in the east, and faces the third one placed...”

The party was desperately trying to get out parchment and quill, and also to remember pieces of what the strange figure said.

“...the teardrop is in the west. The star is warded by ice. Three gems clockwise from the crystal is the pentagon. The gem warded by lightning is between the sphere and the first one placed. The ward of silence is upon the northwest gem. The emerald faces the ruby. The first one placed was onyx...”

Scribble, scribble. Several of our heroes began transcribing as quickly as they could.

“...the amethyst faces the crystal and is between the garnet and the star. The ruby is just south of the diamond. The gems warded by light and fire are facing each other.The fire ward is on the cube. The rod was the seventh gem placed and is next to the spell of entrance...”

“Spell of entrance? That sounds good!” exclaimed Proctor Mansack.

“...the ruby is next to the northwest. The star faces the first one placed. Lightning wards the eight one placed. The garnet gem is warded by force, and is just south of the emerald. The rod is next to the pentagon. The sapphire is next to the amethyst. The pyramid is just north of the emerald.”

Scribble, scribble, went the quills. But then...

“Is it over?” cried Rulsha.

“Not yet,” Glorkien said darkly. “We still have to solve it.”

Galactus said something incomprehensible to the others in his own tongue (Elfisti).***

They surveyed the platform. Each corner of the octagon had a small crystal plate on it. “So one of these gets us in?” Drelvin asked. “What if we just try them all?” He reached out and touched one-

Suddenly his friends, the cowled figure, the platform, everyone else was gone- and he was somewhere else! Worse yet, he was on fire!

Next Time: Drelvin- alone!

*All of these were pcs who came together to assault the Hill to save the old book. In retrospect the Hill of Skulls adventure was a bit of a railroad, but it was such a kick-ass dungeon that I felt compelled to force the issue. I learned a lot from that adventure.

**A thaumaturge was a lot like a sorcerer, really, only in 2e.

***Galactus’ player would roleplay this by saying “Blah blah blah” whenever he would talk.

 

[the Jester]

When the flames around him subsided, Drelvin staggered up against the wall and drank his sole healing potion. Where are the others? he wondered. Best to wait for a while. Hopefully, they’ll come after me.

Carefully, he looked the room over. Near the exit, he found a covered pit trap (and not the hard way!). He pushed it open, and peered down at the bottom. His infravision couldn’t ascertain much, but there were small heat sources crawling around down there, on some kind of mound...

A body, he realized, and those little things are rot grubs! He shivered; if he had fallen in the pit, he might not be able to get out- especially with rot grubs burrowing into his skin!

Drelvin waited patiently.

After a time, he took a drink.

The riddle mentioned wards, he realized. The others are probably afraid that they will be killed if they choose wrong. I may be on my own.

He continued to wait. He let a good hour go by before, reluctantly, admitting to himself, They either can’t or aren’t coming after me. He nocked an arrow and began edging gingerly around the pit. I have to find my way out of here, the archer thought. If I don’t, eventually I will run out of food and water- or be eaten by a monster. The thought of the billymen, with their obvious sexual lust for blood, made him shiver again.

Around the pit he went, and then he could see down the hallway. It branched forward and right immediately. Breathing very softly, sliding forward as quietly as possible, Drelvin continued his cautious advance.

The hall opened up into a long room to his right. There were several heat sources in there, about the size and shape of large chickens, and they began to bawk at once as Drelvin moved in. They started to flap and strut towards him.

Taking no chances, Drelvin launched an arrow at one of the birds. His shaft flew true, piercing the thing’s breast; but somehow, it lived. It was only enraged.

His fingers gripped another arrow and quickly fitted it to the string as he backpedaled, but the birds were on him. Pecking at him-

That was the last thing Drelvin felt, as the touch of the cockatrice turned him to stone.

Next Time: But what has happened to our other heroes? Who else has been split off from the party, and how?

 

[the Jester]

Atop the horrible, stinking hill of heads and skulls, the adventurers reeled in surprise when Drelvin vanished with a blast of flame.

“What happened to him?” asked Rajah after a moment. “We can’t leave him on his own...”

“He might have been incinerated,” Proctor Mansack replied. “We don’t know.” He turned to the cowled figure. “You there! What has happened to our friend??”

The figure began to recite its puzzle again. “I am the doorway. The ward of entry is on the pyramid. The pentagon is between the ones warded by light and fire. The quartz is in the north...” Various members of the party began to scribble down notes of its words. Between them, they would manage to fill in the blanks in their transcriptions. Unfortunately, the figure said nothing new, and gave no new clues as to the location of Drelvin. “...the pyramid is just north of the emerald.”

“He touched the wrong place,” surmised Dexter. “And did you hear what he said? The wrong entrances are warded.” He sighed heavily. “We can’t just go after him- it might get us all killed!”

“Maybe,” Rajah growled, “we can make some progress by threatening this guy here!” He turned angrily towards the cowled figure. “You hear me? You had better help us, or...”

Without a sound, Rajah vanished.

”I am the doorway. The ward of entry is on the pyramid. The pentagon is between the ones warded by light and fire...” The figure spoke its riddle again, with perfect equanimity. Rajah was nowhere in sight, and did not answer their calls. It was obvious- with their fists clenched in frustration- that there was no easy way to coax answers from the figure without likely further splitting the party.

So the party got to work on the puzzle.

They first put together the entire wording of the puzzle, piecing it together from each of their memories and hurried scribbles. Then they began using logic to put it together.

Said Jenner, “Obviously, we have several categories of things here. Ward types, for example: one is warded by ice, another by lightning, another by fire. And stone types- we have garnet, onyx, quartz, ruby and so forth. We have position- they seem to be cardinal positions, and it seems to imply that there are eight ‘slots.’”

Belmondo nodded. “And shapes. Belmondo noticed that there are different shapes- pyramid, cube, teardrop and so forth.”

“Four categories,” mused Therighast. “And we need- what? The spell of entrance?”

“Someone read off the entire puzzle,” suggested Criedieki.

Julio Titan stood up dramatically.* He cleared his throat, looked around to ensure that he had everyone’s attention, and then began to read in a clear, charismatic voice: “I am the doorway. The ward of entry is on the pyramid. The pentagon is between the ones warded by light and fire. The quartz is in the north. The fire ward is next to the southwest. The onyx is facing the sixth one placed. The darkness ward is upon the ruby. The seventh one placed is in the east, and faces the third one placed. The teardrop is in the west. The star is warded by ice. Three gems clockwise from the crystal is the pentagon. The gem warded by lightning is between the sphere and the first one placed. The ward of silence is upon the northwest gem. The emerald faces the ruby. The first one placed was onyx. The amethyst faces the crystal and is between the garnet and the star. The ruby is just south of the diamond. The gems warded by light and fire are facing each other. The fire ward is on the cube. The rod was the seventh gem placed and is next to the spell of entrance. The ruby is next to the northwest. The star faces the first one placed. Lightning wards the eight one placed. The garnet gem is warded by force, and is just south of the emerald. The rod is next to the pentagon. The sapphire is next to the amethyst. The pyramid is just north of the emerald.”

The party sat silently for a moment after that, and then began to draw a diagram. Grisly- whose real name was Nydroth- labeled it with an eight-pointed star, and labeled each point of the star with a direction.** Then they began filling in what they could. After a moment, the necromancer grunted, “There is placement order, too.”

The others nodded. Grisly’s vulture familiar let out a rasping squawk.

“The darkness is on the ruby, and the ruby faces the emerald,” noted Glorkien.

“The fire ward is on the cube. That’s the one that Drelvin touched,” Proctor pointed out.

Therighast pointed. “It was that one,” he said. He was indicating the south point of the wooden platform that the party was gathered round.

They continued to put together more and more information. It took a while, but eventually, they thought they had it. Nydroth cackled, and his vulture croaked a foul noise out.

“Well,” Dexter sighed, “let’s see if we are right.” The party gathered around, and as one, they reached to the northeast.

Next Time: Oh no! What has happened to Rajah? And what will happen to the others??


*Not his real name.

**To those of you that have read about him in other story hours, yes, that Nydroth. He did indeed adventure with Dexter for a brief time in his youth!