GREYHAWK, THE GOLDEN ERA CY963: CHAPTER THREE
- Thread starter Tellerian Hawke
- Start date
Aust Thale
Adventurer
Vale gathers the purchased scrolls from the temple, as well as the mace, and the small hand barrel full of holy water. It strikes him that a barrel of holy water doesn't seem so...holy. However, given their goal, an abundance of the water might prove to be crucial. Appreciative of the suggestion by the temple, Vale decides to purchase one of the potions that they offer as an alternative to grave bane. He also visits the closest general store to acquire whatever large vials and flasks. He will prep the water from the hand barrel to the vials and flasks to distribute to Dewydd, Respen, Sylvar, Lathir, and Vega, and anyone else that might go with the party to Skorane. On the numbers, their party is rather small; Vale remains concerned if the golem as described isn't dealt with quickly. Vale doesn't have much for the golem; the undead, particularly this talking spider, is his concern. He finds himself a bit more in prayer to Clangeddin particularly, but all of the dwarven pantheon for any shred of wisdom or good providence they can provide.
At the end of the day, he checks on his horse, Elvira, and on Gus to see that he hasn't found himself inn mischief. He washes his clothes, cleans and polishes his weapons, and properly packs his gear in his haversack and his horses saddlebags. He washes Gus, a task that neither of them particularly preferred. Afterwards, he cleaned himself up, trimming and re-braiding his blond beard. He has a late dinner and ale at the Inn, preferably with his mates, but if not, by himself. He'd have liked the company of his cousin, or even perhaps Kasnik, the old orc. The following day would certainly be busy with the court proceedings, but afterwards, he felt they will quickly flesh out their plan and get on the road to Skorane.
He gave thought to the next day, wondering if there would be another attempt on Beringer's life, or perhaps on this Captain and the two surviving thugs, and as he retired to his room with a clean, or rather, cleaner Gus, he fell asleep among prayers of thanksgiving and lamentations of worry.
At the end of the day, he checks on his horse, Elvira, and on Gus to see that he hasn't found himself inn mischief. He washes his clothes, cleans and polishes his weapons, and properly packs his gear in his haversack and his horses saddlebags. He washes Gus, a task that neither of them particularly preferred. Afterwards, he cleaned himself up, trimming and re-braiding his blond beard. He has a late dinner and ale at the Inn, preferably with his mates, but if not, by himself. He'd have liked the company of his cousin, or even perhaps Kasnik, the old orc. The following day would certainly be busy with the court proceedings, but afterwards, he felt they will quickly flesh out their plan and get on the road to Skorane.
He gave thought to the next day, wondering if there would be another attempt on Beringer's life, or perhaps on this Captain and the two surviving thugs, and as he retired to his room with a clean, or rather, cleaner Gus, he fell asleep among prayers of thanksgiving and lamentations of worry.
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The shop keep at the Dog and Hammer informs Sylvar that they don't carry rope, but that he can find it at a general store. Sylvar leaves the arrows he was going to buy after remembering they won't be useful against the golem. He travels to the local general store and buys fifty feet of silk rope. While at the general store he casts detect magic on himself in an attempt to detect any magical items on the store shelves that the shop keep may not be aware of.
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Aust Thale
Adventurer
Respen, A Little Housekeeping, Preparation, and Thought
~ I've not had prospects this good since leaving the Enllaves. Would be a shame to die to an undead spider or a golem. Therefore, preparation is key. ~
After thanking Laramon profusely for the scrolls, especially the Move Earth scrolls, as well as Dewydd for picking up the tab for them, Respen spend the day gathering odds and ends among the party members, searching Laramon's library for additional scrolls that might be taken, wandering through the various stores, visiting the Mage Guild, and assisting with preparing the holy water. In exchange to Laramon, Respen finds himself sweeping and tidying up the library into the night, stopping only for a bit of dinner back at the Inn. He is obviously grateful at this turn of good fortune, and not to make himself a nuisance, he brings back some food from the Inn to Laramon's, giving it to him as a courtesy if he sees, or leaving it for him if he does not.
Retiring from the tower, Respen returns to the Inn late in the evening. He spends time cleaning and tending to his gear, cleaning himself, and spending the remainder of the evening 'en elventrance'.
~ I can not wait until this trial is over. I think we are as ready as we shall ever be. If we survive this, I think I will sequester myself for a bit in Laramon's library. Perhaps decipher a few spells to add to my spell book. But adventure awaits. One can't take one's good fortune for granted when there remains work to be done. ~
Respen's trance takes over, and he becomes calm for the evening.
~ I've not had prospects this good since leaving the Enllaves. Would be a shame to die to an undead spider or a golem. Therefore, preparation is key. ~
After thanking Laramon profusely for the scrolls, especially the Move Earth scrolls, as well as Dewydd for picking up the tab for them, Respen spend the day gathering odds and ends among the party members, searching Laramon's library for additional scrolls that might be taken, wandering through the various stores, visiting the Mage Guild, and assisting with preparing the holy water. In exchange to Laramon, Respen finds himself sweeping and tidying up the library into the night, stopping only for a bit of dinner back at the Inn. He is obviously grateful at this turn of good fortune, and not to make himself a nuisance, he brings back some food from the Inn to Laramon's, giving it to him as a courtesy if he sees, or leaving it for him if he does not.
Retiring from the tower, Respen returns to the Inn late in the evening. He spends time cleaning and tending to his gear, cleaning himself, and spending the remainder of the evening 'en elventrance'.
~ I can not wait until this trial is over. I think we are as ready as we shall ever be. If we survive this, I think I will sequester myself for a bit in Laramon's library. Perhaps decipher a few spells to add to my spell book. But adventure awaits. One can't take one's good fortune for granted when there remains work to be done. ~
Respen's trance takes over, and he becomes calm for the evening.
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MacConnell
Creator of The Untamed Wilds
Having spent most of the day in the park with Angus and Sugarfoot, Lathir was pondering the possibilities of the coming venture when it occurs to him that since he can create fire and that fire is effective against undead, he returns the horse and bear to the stables and finds a general store in order to purchase some flasks of oil.
Aust Thale
Adventurer
Upon seeing Lathir, Respen strikes up conversation about their supplies. He offers Lathir 8 flasks of oil that Respen has in one of his horse's saddlebags. He has a total of 10 from previous purchases in Dyvers before the Caltaran travels. "Save your currency, Lathir. I will happily give these over, and they were intended for use this way anyhow."
MacConnell
Creator of The Untamed Wilds
Showing Gratitude
Lathir greets Respen and accepts the presence of his company while he walks.
Aust Thale
Adventurer
Vale Dreams of the Dead
Vale dreams...
~ Able...Able?....ABLE?! Where ARE you? I can't see you, Able. Yes, yes. I hear you, Able! No, I can not see you. Don't move. Just keep speaking, and I shall come to you. ~
His dark-vision sees the absence of warmth. Moving. Stirring. The undead. What kind?
~ ABLE, RUN! ~
Vale gives chase, swinging his axe wildly in the dark. The shapes make way and he bust into a firelight chamber, shadows from torches flicker on the rock.
~ RUN!!?? ~
The chamber door disappears behind him into the rock. He hears a muffled scream at the end of the room from a large box standing upright, big enough to hold a tall human.
~ ABLE? ~
Vale whimpers and begins toward the box. His feet drag as if through mud. The box shakes. He hears another muffled scream...then a gurgle...and then the sucking sounds. And then, almost as quickly, he hears the last vestiges of life slump against the inside of the box.
Then he sees the hand...or more aptly, the claw, gripping the top of the box. Dumbstruck, he can not speak. It's fingers are long pale white talons, attached to a long, skinny arm with the tattered remnants of a jersey or blouse. Then the long, grey hair, waving like feathers atop the edge of the large box, a black pit with two bright red eyes for a face, rising out of the box. Long and skinny and unholy pale, Vale is frozen in fear. He looks down in his hands to see his axe, and draws comfort. His hands look like a child's hands. Smooth and young, even for a dwarf. They grip the axe as the skinny devil comes out of the box, landing on their feat. The dark face recedes quickly into a twisted mesh of jagged teeth. Rows of fangs drip fresh blood, dark and wet and messy on the face and chin, dripping down the dead thing's neck and chest.
~ Is that a smile on your face? Are you laughing? ~
Vale cursed, but he did not hear his own words. Only the heavy rasp of the thing in front of him heaving breaths, steam rising from each breath such that Vale realized he was freezing cold.
The thing looked back at him curiously and gestured for him to come closer. Mocking him. He looked back down at his axe, a bright blue hue eerily illuminating the front of him, fighting for control of the light with the torches, now burning out one by one. He looked back up. The dead thing had moved? Or had it? It was closer, but he didn't see it move. It pointed at him and crouched, placing it's index finger and thumb together at its mouth. It coughed, and it pulled something from its mouth. It tossed the object at Vale's feet. Vale didn't have to pick it up. It was suddenly in his hand.
It was a heart. Able's heart.
Without a word, rage and horror compelling Vale...he ran at the thing with axe in hand, cleave it's head from its shoulders in a single stroke. He continued to hack at the thing with the axe until the blue light faded from the axe. Covered in wet, thick, viscous blood, in his hair, on his face, his hands, in his mouth, he hacked at the box until an opening appeared. He was crying and devastated and angry, as he frantically searched against hope for his friend.
He found a body of a dwarf. He dragged it to the light to see...
~ Behold, my friend is de...~
He wrenched the last surviving torch from the wall and held it where he could see. He saw...himself. Desiccated and bloodless with deep gashes, but himself nonetheless.
In shock, he turned back to the hacked mess of death a few feet over. He put the torch close.
~ Able... oh no. ABLE!!! ~
He looked back at the axe. It was glowing blue again. More were coming.
He shook himself awake, confused, in a cold sweat, his blanket drenched. He jumped from bed and went to his washbowl. He noticed a light, perhaps from outside?
He saw his batteaxe. It was glowing blue. He heard the gurgle and scratching at his door. Turning, he saw Gus, flayed open in an open doorway, a pale white hand with long talons petting what remained of Gus' head.
And he awoke from his slumber with a startled snort. He heard birds chirping. It was early morning, perhaps 5am. He could smell the cooking in the Inn. The innkeeper had delivered his laundry during the evening. He sat up and put his feet on the cold floor, his gout painfully rejecting his intent to rise. He rubbed his feet and looked at Gus asleep. He looked at his axe and the new mace in the corner with his armor and vestments. He collected himself, dressed, had a quick breakfast, and walked with Gus at his side to the Dwarven Temple. There, he prayed for an hour, restoring his spells for the day and then, taking his silver holy symbol, placed it into the axe head, praying for a half hour for guidance and fealty to this weapon. Perhaps it was time.
He would name the weapon Able. A good name. He hoped the axe liked it. It ought to; its namesake was once the best of brothers, until Vale killed him. Or what was left of him anyway.
~ ABLE. I miss you, brother. ~
Vale dreams...
~ Able...Able?....ABLE?! Where ARE you? I can't see you, Able. Yes, yes. I hear you, Able! No, I can not see you. Don't move. Just keep speaking, and I shall come to you. ~
His dark-vision sees the absence of warmth. Moving. Stirring. The undead. What kind?
~ ABLE, RUN! ~
Vale gives chase, swinging his axe wildly in the dark. The shapes make way and he bust into a firelight chamber, shadows from torches flicker on the rock.
~ RUN!!?? ~
The chamber door disappears behind him into the rock. He hears a muffled scream at the end of the room from a large box standing upright, big enough to hold a tall human.
~ ABLE? ~
Vale whimpers and begins toward the box. His feet drag as if through mud. The box shakes. He hears another muffled scream...then a gurgle...and then the sucking sounds. And then, almost as quickly, he hears the last vestiges of life slump against the inside of the box.
Then he sees the hand...or more aptly, the claw, gripping the top of the box. Dumbstruck, he can not speak. It's fingers are long pale white talons, attached to a long, skinny arm with the tattered remnants of a jersey or blouse. Then the long, grey hair, waving like feathers atop the edge of the large box, a black pit with two bright red eyes for a face, rising out of the box. Long and skinny and unholy pale, Vale is frozen in fear. He looks down in his hands to see his axe, and draws comfort. His hands look like a child's hands. Smooth and young, even for a dwarf. They grip the axe as the skinny devil comes out of the box, landing on their feat. The dark face recedes quickly into a twisted mesh of jagged teeth. Rows of fangs drip fresh blood, dark and wet and messy on the face and chin, dripping down the dead thing's neck and chest.
~ Is that a smile on your face? Are you laughing? ~
Vale cursed, but he did not hear his own words. Only the heavy rasp of the thing in front of him heaving breaths, steam rising from each breath such that Vale realized he was freezing cold.
The thing looked back at him curiously and gestured for him to come closer. Mocking him. He looked back down at his axe, a bright blue hue eerily illuminating the front of him, fighting for control of the light with the torches, now burning out one by one. He looked back up. The dead thing had moved? Or had it? It was closer, but he didn't see it move. It pointed at him and crouched, placing it's index finger and thumb together at its mouth. It coughed, and it pulled something from its mouth. It tossed the object at Vale's feet. Vale didn't have to pick it up. It was suddenly in his hand.
It was a heart. Able's heart.
Without a word, rage and horror compelling Vale...he ran at the thing with axe in hand, cleave it's head from its shoulders in a single stroke. He continued to hack at the thing with the axe until the blue light faded from the axe. Covered in wet, thick, viscous blood, in his hair, on his face, his hands, in his mouth, he hacked at the box until an opening appeared. He was crying and devastated and angry, as he frantically searched against hope for his friend.
He found a body of a dwarf. He dragged it to the light to see...
~ Behold, my friend is de...~
He wrenched the last surviving torch from the wall and held it where he could see. He saw...himself. Desiccated and bloodless with deep gashes, but himself nonetheless.
In shock, he turned back to the hacked mess of death a few feet over. He put the torch close.
~ Able... oh no. ABLE!!! ~
He looked back at the axe. It was glowing blue again. More were coming.
He shook himself awake, confused, in a cold sweat, his blanket drenched. He jumped from bed and went to his washbowl. He noticed a light, perhaps from outside?
He saw his batteaxe. It was glowing blue. He heard the gurgle and scratching at his door. Turning, he saw Gus, flayed open in an open doorway, a pale white hand with long talons petting what remained of Gus' head.
And he awoke from his slumber with a startled snort. He heard birds chirping. It was early morning, perhaps 5am. He could smell the cooking in the Inn. The innkeeper had delivered his laundry during the evening. He sat up and put his feet on the cold floor, his gout painfully rejecting his intent to rise. He rubbed his feet and looked at Gus asleep. He looked at his axe and the new mace in the corner with his armor and vestments. He collected himself, dressed, had a quick breakfast, and walked with Gus at his side to the Dwarven Temple. There, he prayed for an hour, restoring his spells for the day and then, taking his silver holy symbol, placed it into the axe head, praying for a half hour for guidance and fealty to this weapon. Perhaps it was time.
He would name the weapon Able. A good name. He hoped the axe liked it. It ought to; its namesake was once the best of brothers, until Vale killed him. Or what was left of him anyway.
~ ABLE. I miss you, brother. ~
Tellerian Hawke
Defender of Oerth
As you begin to pray over the axe, you begin to sense something; it's only a glimmer at first, but it gradually becomes stronger. It's as if the axe were tugging at your shirt...
As you continue to pray, you begin to realize that it's not tugging at your clothing, it's tugging at YOU. You open your eyes, and are greeted with an amazing sight: there are glowing, white-blue, pulsing tentacles coming from the axe, touching you on your chest! There are about 8 of them, long and thin, tugging at the very FIBER of your being, begging for your attention.
You sense an urgent need from the axe, and you get the feeling that the tentacles have a specific purpose. It almost seems as if the axe is ASKING YOU FOR PERMISSION. You realize, suddenly, that one of the tentacles is touching your head, and you feel a sort of empathic link being formed. You somehow know that with the slightest response, you could give your consent, without moving a muscle, without saying a word...
As you give your consent, the tentacles begin to pulse more quickly, rapidly growing in size, as they begin to suck out a portion of your life force!! You do not feel as if you were harmed; in fact, the sensation is quite pleasant, and very calming. You do not feel weaker, nor do you feel drowsy, nor sick in any way. It is not the same feeling you had when the undead fiend drained part of your soul, so long ago. That experience had felt like a ripping away, like a tearing, a sawing. This experience feels like a mild massage, a cleansing of sorts.
When your prayer ends, you notice that your holy symbol glows faintly and dimly around its outer edge, a white-green glow, that is barely noticeable to the naked eye. In fact, you surmise that perhaps the only reason you can see the glow at all is because of your connection to the axe; now that the axe has drained a small part of you, you feel somehow as though you are now a part of IT. But aside from that recognition, nothing else about the axe, or about you, has changed. Your mind is clear, and you feel refreshed, and you know, somewhere in the back of your mind, that you will have to repeat this process SOON, lest your efforts up to this point be lost.
As you continue to pray, you begin to realize that it's not tugging at your clothing, it's tugging at YOU. You open your eyes, and are greeted with an amazing sight: there are glowing, white-blue, pulsing tentacles coming from the axe, touching you on your chest! There are about 8 of them, long and thin, tugging at the very FIBER of your being, begging for your attention.
You sense an urgent need from the axe, and you get the feeling that the tentacles have a specific purpose. It almost seems as if the axe is ASKING YOU FOR PERMISSION. You realize, suddenly, that one of the tentacles is touching your head, and you feel a sort of empathic link being formed. You somehow know that with the slightest response, you could give your consent, without moving a muscle, without saying a word...
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As you give your consent, the tentacles begin to pulse more quickly, rapidly growing in size, as they begin to suck out a portion of your life force!! You do not feel as if you were harmed; in fact, the sensation is quite pleasant, and very calming. You do not feel weaker, nor do you feel drowsy, nor sick in any way. It is not the same feeling you had when the undead fiend drained part of your soul, so long ago. That experience had felt like a ripping away, like a tearing, a sawing. This experience feels like a mild massage, a cleansing of sorts.
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When your prayer ends, you notice that your holy symbol glows faintly and dimly around its outer edge, a white-green glow, that is barely noticeable to the naked eye. In fact, you surmise that perhaps the only reason you can see the glow at all is because of your connection to the axe; now that the axe has drained a small part of you, you feel somehow as though you are now a part of IT. But aside from that recognition, nothing else about the axe, or about you, has changed. Your mind is clear, and you feel refreshed, and you know, somewhere in the back of your mind, that you will have to repeat this process SOON, lest your efforts up to this point be lost.
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Tellerian Hawke
Defender of Oerth
THE DAY OF RECKONING IS HERE!
The party is summoned to a public hearing, in the Tower of Justice. The Courtroom is on the fifth floor of an 8-floor, square, stone tower. In the southern part of the courtroom are 15-foot-wide double doors. The seating areas in the courtroom are spacious and comfortable. All those in attendance, who are not part of the prosecution or the defense, are seated in fenced "galleries" that are surrounded by 3 foot high courtesy fences. (This includes spectators, and the jury also.)
The Judge (Sir Benton Fenwick) and the Lord Mayor (Margull) are sitting in tall, leather chairs, behind the judge's bench. According to Dyvers Law, although the judge's decision is final and binding, the mayor may sit next to him in an advisory capacity, as he is doing now. You all notice that Margull's face is entirely hidden by the huge, black cowl that hangs over his face. Margull's staff is laying length-wise on top of the judge's bench.
The Prosecuting Attorney (Sir Leonard Faulk) sits to left side, behind a bench. The Defense Attorney (Sir Harold Vinnalos) and his two charges (The Captain, and The False Guard) sit to the right side, behind a bench.
On the right wall, the panel of ten Citizen Jurors is seated in one of the fenced galleries.
A Sergeant At Arms, and three City Watchmen guard the courtroom, two by the judge's bench, two by the doors.
The window in this place, which is 15 feet wide, and 8 feet tall, is open-air, and drops 50 feet to the street below.
Also present, in the right-side gallery, are 5 Citizen Observers, and Father Xavier.
Lastly, the party occupies the left-side gallery.
MORE TO COME...
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The party is summoned to a public hearing, in the Tower of Justice. The Courtroom is on the fifth floor of an 8-floor, square, stone tower. In the southern part of the courtroom are 15-foot-wide double doors. The seating areas in the courtroom are spacious and comfortable. All those in attendance, who are not part of the prosecution or the defense, are seated in fenced "galleries" that are surrounded by 3 foot high courtesy fences. (This includes spectators, and the jury also.)
The Judge (Sir Benton Fenwick) and the Lord Mayor (Margull) are sitting in tall, leather chairs, behind the judge's bench. According to Dyvers Law, although the judge's decision is final and binding, the mayor may sit next to him in an advisory capacity, as he is doing now. You all notice that Margull's face is entirely hidden by the huge, black cowl that hangs over his face. Margull's staff is laying length-wise on top of the judge's bench.
The Prosecuting Attorney (Sir Leonard Faulk) sits to left side, behind a bench. The Defense Attorney (Sir Harold Vinnalos) and his two charges (The Captain, and The False Guard) sit to the right side, behind a bench.
On the right wall, the panel of ten Citizen Jurors is seated in one of the fenced galleries.
A Sergeant At Arms, and three City Watchmen guard the courtroom, two by the judge's bench, two by the doors.
The window in this place, which is 15 feet wide, and 8 feet tall, is open-air, and drops 50 feet to the street below.
Also present, in the right-side gallery, are 5 Citizen Observers, and Father Xavier.
Lastly, the party occupies the left-side gallery.
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MORE TO COME...
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