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JollyDoc's Curse of the Crimson Throne: Updated 1/29/10
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<blockquote data-quote="JollyDoc" data-source="post: 4875112" data-attributes="member: 9546"><p>SCARWALL</p><p></p><p>Cinnabar’s answer from the Sklar-Quah was given in one word, chanted over and over: “Tshamek! Tshamek! Tshamek!”</p><p>Cinnabar’s mouth twisted in hatred.</p><p>“Kill them all!” she screamed.</p><p>The Red Mantis assassins were in motion before her last word had left her lips. Four of them, as well as Cinnabar herself, somersaulted and vaulted across the intervening distance to hem Herc in on all sides. Though he whirled and parried with a speed that belied his size, one of the assassins drove a blade through his thigh, while Cinnabar slashed viciously across his torso from shoulder to hip. </p><p>Meanwhile, three more of the killers closed to Kat, who still lay on her back where the firepelt cougar had left her. She threw magic in the face of the closest, causing him to hesitate momentarily before striking, but the other two had no such qualms, and they began hacking and slashing viciously.</p><p></p><p>Herc staggered, but did not fall, turning on Cinnabar instead. His arms seemed to blur as he struck. Twice his sword grazed her, but her grace and agility allowed her to avoid the brunt of the blows, but as she spun a final time, Herc’s shield connected solidly with her jaw, shattering it audibly. She reeled, her eyes momentarily glazed over, but as she shook her head to clear it and wiped the blood from her mouth, she smiled. An instant later, however, her eyes went wide and her mouth fell open in a soundless scream as a great horn ripped through her chest from behind and she was lifted bodily into the air. Ratbone then tossed his head almost casually, and sent her limp corpse tumbling across the ground. Then, before the other assassins could fully grasp what had happened, the feral druid ripped two of them to shreds. </p><p></p><p>Michael’s path was clear, both literally and figuratively. He dodged the surging melee and rushed to Raelak’s side. When the Cinderlander’s cougar turned and snarled at him, the priest promptly ran it through with his sword. He then turned his attention back to Raelak and Krojun, and let his power flow into them. </p><p></p><p>Kat concentrated on blocking out the pain from the numerous cuts and nicks, and cast another spell, transporting herself out of the death trap to reappear several yards away. While the assassins turned this way and that, searching for her, Ratbone and Herc closed on them. It was over before they knew what hit them. </p><p>________________________________________________________</p><p></p><p>Dawn the following day was not the usual time of celebration for the Sklar-Quah. Instead, it was a time of mourning as the Shoanti gathered their dead and erected funeral pyres. When the Sun Shaman and Chief Ready-Klar returned from the Kallow Mounds, it was that scene which greeted them. The leaders listened in silence as the people told the tale of the attack. Krojun was especially vocal, but he did not lay blame upon the newest members of the tribe. Instead, he praised their valor and the risks they took in protecting the other members of the tribe. Once the story was told, the Sun Shaman stood before his tribe.</p><p>“You honor our fallen,” he said. “Their spirits look down upon us and smile. Do not grieve in their absence. Instead, celebrate, for word of the deeds done here in recent days shall spread quickly throughout the Cinderlands. Others will realize, as we have, that even tshamek can become heroes of our people, and the idea of waging war against them will become as ridiculous as waging war against your own family. Let us honor our dead, as our rituals have taught us, but let us also honor them by our future actions.”</p><p></p><p>As the Shoanti went about the work of laying their dead to rest, the Sun Shaman told the companions to accompany him to his tent. Once there, he seated himself cross-legged on the floor and indicated that they should be seated as well.</p><p>“I am now ready to give to you the knowledge that you seek,” he began without preamble. “Hundreds of years ago, one of my ancestors was called to join a righteous cause. A man named Mandraivus, a hero from a distant nation, was gathering a small group of warriors to aid in a fight against a despotic dragon named Kazavon, and my ancestor joined this crusade. He was gone for months, and when he finally returned he was not the same…his hands shook, his eyes carried a haunted stare, and he cried out in fear at night. He spoke little of what he saw while serving Mandraivus, but did say that they were successful in defeating Kazavon, and the fortress of Scarwall had come under Mandraivus’s control. He was convinced it would remain impotent as long as the hero managed to maintain a hold on it.”</p><p>“While Kazavon had been defeated, however, his will to live was so immense that even the remains of his body twitched. The cabal had attempted to destroy the remains, but many fragments of the dragon’s skeleton resisted even their most destructive spells. Mandraivus tasked seven of his surviving followers, which my ancestor counted himself among, each with claiming one of the bony relics of Kazavon’s body and ordered them taken from Scarwall. None of the seven would communicate where they were going to the others or to Mandraivus, and they were to ensure that their chosen relics would remain hidden and guarded for all time in order to prevent the dragon from returning to life.”</p><p>“My ancestor told this story to his fellow shamans, and revealed that his chosen relic was the dragon’s fangs. The Shoanti began calling them the Midnight Fangs, and they chose the ancient pyramid on the shores of Conqueror’s Bay as their reliquary. After hiding the fangs in a secret room deep inside the pyramid, they took to the task of ensuring that the fangs remained safe. For generations, they maintained their task…until Cheliax invaded and slaughtered my people. Those few who survived and knew the secret of the fangs were forced to flee with their kin into the Cinderlands. For the next three centuries the knowledge was passed from Sun Shaman to Sun Shaman, and they watched with fearful eyes as the city of Korvosa grew around their ancient reliquary.”</p><p>“That Korvosa’s queen has discovered the Midnight Fangs and somehow tapped into their latent power troubles me greatly, for I know something of their abilities. During the time they were guarded, Shoanti shamans studied them and communed with the spirit world about them. They discovered that a fragment of Kazavon’s soul remained lodged within the fangs. While this fragment alone wasn’t’ enough to work ill upon the world, it could certainly invade the dreams of those who touched them. The Sun Shamans were stubborn and willful, more than a match for the fangs’ temptations and promises, but a weaker mind, say that of a pretty, young queen, would have no such defense. “</p><p>“The fragments of Kazavon’s soul are like a plant…once they find suitable soil in which to grow, they can bloom into a mighty tree. This seems to be the case with Ileosa…her own cruelty and strength have been enhanced greatly by the fangs. Worse, she now possesses two souls…her own, and one grown from the fragment of Kazavon’s. Two souls in one body would grant her incredible power over her own mortality.”</p><p>“Now,” he leaned forward intently, “I suggest that you take part in an ancient Shoanti ritual known as the Blessing of the Ancestors. We use it only in times of great change. It calls upon a soul from the spirit world to seek guidance and advice on how to proceed. Is there a particular spirit or ancestor with whom any of you have a strong link? The stronger the link, the more exacting the advice granted becomes.”</p><p></p><p>Immediately the group began discussing the options, with several suggesting family members or close friends. Only one of the companions remained silent…Katarina. At the Sun Shaman’s first suggestion, something began nagging at the back of the beguiler’s mind. Then, as the discussions and suggestions continued, it hit her, and she knew with certainty who their link should be.</p><p>“Zellara,” she said. </p><p>The tent became hushed as everyone turned to look at her. </p><p>“She brought us together originally,” Kat said. “I still carry her harrow deck, a piece of her almost. She’s been our spiritual guide all along.”</p><p>The others nodded in agreement. </p><p>“It is decided , then,” the Sun Shaman nodded. </p><p>_______________________________________________________</p><p></p><p>The ritual took place atop Bolt Rock. Though it was only the companions who sat with the Sun Shaman around a small campfire, the entire village of Flameford gathered atop the mesa to observe the proceedings. The Sun Shaman began by recounting the legends of the tribe and the heroics and wisdom of the ancestors in a sing-song voice, shifting after some ten minutes or so into wordless droning and rhythmic chanting. This went on for another two hours, at which point he slumped and a ghostly figure began to appear in the smoke of the fire. It was obviously Zellara. As she saw the group gathered, she smiled in recognition.</p><p>“Katarina,” she said, “Ratbone, O’Reginald, and Herc. You’ve been joined by new friends, Michael and Raelak.”</p><p>Trinia’s face fell when she realized that the spirit had not called her name.</p><p>“I know why you have called me. The path you must take is clear to me. You must journey to Kazavon’s former stronghold, and claim the blade that laid him low. I have words for you about your goal,” Zellara continued, “but first I would like to perform a Harrowing for you.”</p><p></p><p>Katarina pulled the gypsy’s harrow deck from her pouch and passed it to her. Zellara’s eyes glazed over as she began laying down the cards, leaving them hovering in mid-air. By and large, the Harrowing was typical for such things…ephemeral and vague, but at several points, Zellara pointed out specific cards.</p><p>“The Eclipse,” she said to O’Reginald. “In this position, it speaks of the present. It represents the Brotherhood of Bones and their presence in this region.”</p><p>She then turned to Raelak. “The Tyrant,” she said. “It represents Kazavon and his current influence over Ileosa. Also, I see the Eclipse for you as well, but this time in the future. It portends that many undead await you within the walls of Scarwall.”</p><p>Raelak smiled grimly. Undead were anathema to his tribe, the Lyrune-Quah, and he relished the chance to destroy as many as possible.</p><p>“Katarina,” Zellara said to the beguiler last, “my daughter. For you I have pulled the Keep. It is your future. It is Scarwall, where your destiny lies.”</p><p>Then, once more, she addressed them all.</p><p>“The cards tell me many things. The Past shows us Kazavon’s tyrannical rule over Belkzen, and his subsequent defeat by Mandraivus and his allies. The Present speaks of Queen Ileosa’s great power, and that confronting her without the sword of Mandraivus, Serithtial, would be a fool’s errand. Finally, the Future foreshadows the great evils you will encounter within Scarwall. Your wisdom will guide you. Gird yourselves against the undead and the touch of death. Also, beware that the so-called Brotherhood of Bones could be an important, perhaps even critical ally in the immediate future, but at the same time, you should be careful about how much you trust them.”</p><p>Zellara paused for a moment, then, unexpectedly, began singing.</p><p>“Fate of steel…Serithtial</p><p>Her cage for years sustained</p><p>Four enthralled in lost Scarwall;</p><p>Undead to keep her chained.</p><p>A spirit first, red war his thirst</p><p>Still stands at post of old;</p><p>A second foe, infernal soul</p><p>Waits high in tower cold.</p><p>In kennel’s grime, third bides his time</p><p>Then vents his killing breath.</p><p>And on a stone ‘mid ash and bone,</p><p>The final dreams of death.</p><p>The spirits worn and battletorn</p><p>And locked in their damnation,</p><p>The chained one’s hold at last grows old</p><p>And ushers in salvation.</p><p>Yet hope remains amid the chains</p><p>When blade’s stone cage has crumbled,</p><p>Friends to dread and the death of the dead,</p><p>Keys to Kazavon humbled.”</p><p></p><p>As she finished her song, Zellara smiled again, but it seemed somewhat sad or bittersweet. Suddenly, each of the companions felt a powerful upsurge in their souls as the spirits of the dead infused them with strength and energy. They knew that the souls of their ancestors would aid and watch over them in the dark days to come. The Shoanti stood amazed as the ritual ended and Zellara faded into darkness. Finally, Chief Ready-Klar broke the awestruck silence.</p><p>“Truly these Friends of the Sun are blessed by the ancestors,” he said. “They walk with the spirits and bear their mark. They honor us with their presence and friendship. As they go forth to battle the evil that has plagued these lands of ash for many-score generations, they go with the power of the Sklar-Quah. They shall go forth with the power of Father Sun in their hands.”</p><p>___________________________________________________</p><p></p><p>“I’m not going with you,” Trinia said as she watched her friends pack up their gear.</p><p>“What??” Ratbone asked as he stood and turned towards her.</p><p>“Your spirit guide,” she said, “she didn’t mention me, but that’s not the only reason. There’s nothing I’d rather see more than for Ileosa to be brought to justice, but these things are beyond me. I’m a simple girl…an artist. I’m not used to all this, and now…well, I’ve been studying the history of the Shoanti, and it’s so rich! For the first time in a long time, I feel like I’m…home.”</p><p>“I can understand the desire for home,” the druid nodded. “You will be missed. If we come through this, we will meet again.”</p><p>“I look forward to that,” Trinia smiled. “I’ll paint your victory portrait!”</p><p></p><p>The six companions said their goodbyes to their tribemates…their new friends and family. Then, they gathered around O’Reginald. The sorcerer spoke a few arcane words and the group was engulfed in shadows. When the darkness faded, the K.I.A. was gone…</p><p>_________________________________________________________</p><p></p><p>The ancient fortress of Scarwall lay far to the north of the Cinderlands, in the orc infested Hold of Belkzen. The companions knew generally where it lay, but they also knew the trip would be arduous and dangerous, and they did not have time to waste. So it was that O’Reginald came up with the answer. He transported them to the Plane of Shadow, a dimension parallel to reality that was a monochromatic, darkness infused mirror image. It had its own share of dangers, but travel across it took a fraction of the time it would have taken in the real world. So rather than days, it took only hours for the party to reach the eastern tip of the Kodar Mountains, only a few miles from Scarwall itself. However, the structure they saw before them when they stepped from the shadow realm was not the ancient castle, but instead the bone tower of Shadowcount Sial.</p><p></p><p>They approached the tower cautiously and once again, as if they were expected, the door at its base opened. This time, however, it was not just Sial and Asyra that came out, but also Laori Vaus. </p><p>“Well, well,” Sial said, “here we are again. It seems fate has destined that our roads should join together regardless of our desires. Our offer to you remains the same…a truce.”</p><p>Ratbone started to voice his refusal again, but then Kat’s telepathic voice spoke into his mind…into all of their minds.</p><p>‘Remember what Zellara told us,’ she said. ‘The Brotherhood of Bones may prove to be valuable allies for us.’</p><p>‘Or traitors,’ Ratbone reminded.</p><p>‘We must let fate decide,’ Kat replied. ‘We cannot afford to reject aid freely offered at this juncture.’</p><p>Aloud, Ratbone sighed. “What is it that you propose?” he asked.</p><p>It was Laori who answered, to the visible consternation of Sial.</p><p>“Our goals are not so dissimilar,” she said smiling. “Our organization is very interested in Kazavon and his relics, but Ileosa doesn’t really fit into our plans. We would see her destroyed so that we might recover the teeth from the so-called Crown of Fangs. We suggest that, for now, we all work together, or at least not directly against each other while navigating the dangers of Scarwall, so that we might increase the likelihood that one of our two groups will succeed in obtaining the sword. Serithtial, being what it is, cannot be wielded by us, but you, not being followers of Zon-Kuthon, cannot freely access all of Scarwall. So you see? We need each other until the sword if freed. After that, we can then determine what our next step should be.”</p><p>Ratbone remained silent for a time, then he nodded once.</p><p>“Come then,” he said, “but we make you no promises, only that we will not draw blood against you unless you first betray our trust, or until our goals come into direct conflict.”</p><p>Laori shrugged and smiled more broadly.</p><p>“What more could we ask?”</p><p>________________________________________________________</p><p></p><p>The castle sat atop a small island in a crater lake in the caldera of a dormant volcano. The surrounding hills were desolate, with little more than a few isolated scrub trees and lichens growing here and there. The keep was an imposing collection of towers and fortifications. Clouds of dark carrion birds perched upon its pinnacles and rode the winds above its towers. A single span connected the castle to a small peninsula on the lake’s southern edge, where a crumbling gatehouse still stood. The barbican consisted of a moldering curtain wall that flanked the remains of two towers, the western one of which had collapsed. The other, though battered, still stood and supported a ramshackle lean-to built against it. </p><p></p><p>As the company approached the edge of the peninsula, Ratbone, once more in his feral form, halted. He raised his muzzle to the sky, scenting the air. He closed his eyes and concentrated, sending his thoughts to Kat.</p><p>‘Orcs,’ he said. ‘I can smell their stink, and there are several on the upper two parapets of the tower. They must be squatters.’</p><p>No sooner had he communicated his observations than a volley of arrows went up from the top of the tower, as well as from behind arrow slits in the ground level. The projectiles fell among them, and the eight of them scattered in all directions. Kat began casting, cloaking the middle level of the tower in an impenetrable cloud of fog. Two orcs remained visible on the rooftop, however, and arrows continued to erupt from the ground floor arrow slits. </p><p></p><p>Raelak knelt and drew his bow in one smooth motion, sending three arrows towards the tower in the blink of an eye. All three struck one of the orcs atop the roof, who roared in pain and dropped below the cover of the parapet. Herc and Ratbone, meanwhile, were in motion as well, running full out for the tower. Herc reached the walls first, slung his shield behind him, grabbed the rough handholds on the crumbling brick and began scaling it into the fog cloud above. Ratbone paused in front of the arrow slits, reached one massive paw inside, and felt something snap in his grasp. When he pulled his hand back out, he held an open-mouthed disembodied orc head.</p><p></p><p>When Herc reached the battlement, he found it abandoned. No orcs stood within the mist. He began hurrying along the parapet towards the tower entrance. Suddenly, a pair of hooked chains arced over the edge of the platform, and a moment later Asyra hauled herself over. She locked her crimson eyes on the mercenary and simply nodded, then ran along beside him. When they rounded a corner, they found the tower door open, but in the room beyond, nine heavily armed and armored orcs waited. </p><p></p><p>Down below, Ratbone reached through the slits again and disemboweled another pair of orcs. When he withdrew his bloody hands that time, no more arrows came after him. Suddenly, something hit the ground heavily behind him. He turned and saw an orc corpse riddled with Raelak’s arrows. He grunted in satisfaction as the remainder of the company ran past him and through the ground floor doors.</p><p></p><p>The nearest orc swung a massive axe at Herc, who managed to deflect the brunt of the blow, but still felt his arm jarred all the way to his jaw. He prepared to counter, but then a bellowing roar sounded from the back of the room. The orcs parted, revealing a truly massive specimen behind them. His muscles bulged as he gripped his greatsword in both hands, and his red eyes burned behind the bleached skull tattoo on his face. He roared again and then rushed forward. Herc tried to brace himself, but when the hulking brute struck, the mercenary screamed as the orc’s blade severed a tendon in one of his biceps. Snarling and channeling his pain, Herc struck back, delivering a flurry of vicious blows. The orc chieftain didn’t even try to avoid them. He simply absorbed them, and howled at the sky, blood flowing freely from his wounds.</p><p></p><p>Laori and Michael quickly climbed a ladder they found in the lean-to, and emerged atop the parapet behind Herc and Asyra. At that moment, the orcs in the room boiled out onto the battlement. The priestess of Zon-Kuthon laughed in delight as she whirled her spiked chain around her like a dervish. Asyra joined her, and orcs fell like cordwood before them. Michael could only marvel in horror and wonder at their display. Meanwhile, Herc stood toe-to-toe with the orc leader, and eventually, attrition took its toll. The brute could only ignore the mercenary’s withering assault for so long, though he continued to fight even as he was collapsing to the floor, stopping only when Herc brought the edge of his shield down on the barbarian’s neck.</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="JollyDoc, post: 4875112, member: 9546"] SCARWALL Cinnabar’s answer from the Sklar-Quah was given in one word, chanted over and over: “Tshamek! Tshamek! Tshamek!” Cinnabar’s mouth twisted in hatred. “Kill them all!” she screamed. The Red Mantis assassins were in motion before her last word had left her lips. Four of them, as well as Cinnabar herself, somersaulted and vaulted across the intervening distance to hem Herc in on all sides. Though he whirled and parried with a speed that belied his size, one of the assassins drove a blade through his thigh, while Cinnabar slashed viciously across his torso from shoulder to hip. Meanwhile, three more of the killers closed to Kat, who still lay on her back where the firepelt cougar had left her. She threw magic in the face of the closest, causing him to hesitate momentarily before striking, but the other two had no such qualms, and they began hacking and slashing viciously. Herc staggered, but did not fall, turning on Cinnabar instead. His arms seemed to blur as he struck. Twice his sword grazed her, but her grace and agility allowed her to avoid the brunt of the blows, but as she spun a final time, Herc’s shield connected solidly with her jaw, shattering it audibly. She reeled, her eyes momentarily glazed over, but as she shook her head to clear it and wiped the blood from her mouth, she smiled. An instant later, however, her eyes went wide and her mouth fell open in a soundless scream as a great horn ripped through her chest from behind and she was lifted bodily into the air. Ratbone then tossed his head almost casually, and sent her limp corpse tumbling across the ground. Then, before the other assassins could fully grasp what had happened, the feral druid ripped two of them to shreds. Michael’s path was clear, both literally and figuratively. He dodged the surging melee and rushed to Raelak’s side. When the Cinderlander’s cougar turned and snarled at him, the priest promptly ran it through with his sword. He then turned his attention back to Raelak and Krojun, and let his power flow into them. Kat concentrated on blocking out the pain from the numerous cuts and nicks, and cast another spell, transporting herself out of the death trap to reappear several yards away. While the assassins turned this way and that, searching for her, Ratbone and Herc closed on them. It was over before they knew what hit them. ________________________________________________________ Dawn the following day was not the usual time of celebration for the Sklar-Quah. Instead, it was a time of mourning as the Shoanti gathered their dead and erected funeral pyres. When the Sun Shaman and Chief Ready-Klar returned from the Kallow Mounds, it was that scene which greeted them. The leaders listened in silence as the people told the tale of the attack. Krojun was especially vocal, but he did not lay blame upon the newest members of the tribe. Instead, he praised their valor and the risks they took in protecting the other members of the tribe. Once the story was told, the Sun Shaman stood before his tribe. “You honor our fallen,” he said. “Their spirits look down upon us and smile. Do not grieve in their absence. Instead, celebrate, for word of the deeds done here in recent days shall spread quickly throughout the Cinderlands. Others will realize, as we have, that even tshamek can become heroes of our people, and the idea of waging war against them will become as ridiculous as waging war against your own family. Let us honor our dead, as our rituals have taught us, but let us also honor them by our future actions.” As the Shoanti went about the work of laying their dead to rest, the Sun Shaman told the companions to accompany him to his tent. Once there, he seated himself cross-legged on the floor and indicated that they should be seated as well. “I am now ready to give to you the knowledge that you seek,” he began without preamble. “Hundreds of years ago, one of my ancestors was called to join a righteous cause. A man named Mandraivus, a hero from a distant nation, was gathering a small group of warriors to aid in a fight against a despotic dragon named Kazavon, and my ancestor joined this crusade. He was gone for months, and when he finally returned he was not the same…his hands shook, his eyes carried a haunted stare, and he cried out in fear at night. He spoke little of what he saw while serving Mandraivus, but did say that they were successful in defeating Kazavon, and the fortress of Scarwall had come under Mandraivus’s control. He was convinced it would remain impotent as long as the hero managed to maintain a hold on it.” “While Kazavon had been defeated, however, his will to live was so immense that even the remains of his body twitched. The cabal had attempted to destroy the remains, but many fragments of the dragon’s skeleton resisted even their most destructive spells. Mandraivus tasked seven of his surviving followers, which my ancestor counted himself among, each with claiming one of the bony relics of Kazavon’s body and ordered them taken from Scarwall. None of the seven would communicate where they were going to the others or to Mandraivus, and they were to ensure that their chosen relics would remain hidden and guarded for all time in order to prevent the dragon from returning to life.” “My ancestor told this story to his fellow shamans, and revealed that his chosen relic was the dragon’s fangs. The Shoanti began calling them the Midnight Fangs, and they chose the ancient pyramid on the shores of Conqueror’s Bay as their reliquary. After hiding the fangs in a secret room deep inside the pyramid, they took to the task of ensuring that the fangs remained safe. For generations, they maintained their task…until Cheliax invaded and slaughtered my people. Those few who survived and knew the secret of the fangs were forced to flee with their kin into the Cinderlands. For the next three centuries the knowledge was passed from Sun Shaman to Sun Shaman, and they watched with fearful eyes as the city of Korvosa grew around their ancient reliquary.” “That Korvosa’s queen has discovered the Midnight Fangs and somehow tapped into their latent power troubles me greatly, for I know something of their abilities. During the time they were guarded, Shoanti shamans studied them and communed with the spirit world about them. They discovered that a fragment of Kazavon’s soul remained lodged within the fangs. While this fragment alone wasn’t’ enough to work ill upon the world, it could certainly invade the dreams of those who touched them. The Sun Shamans were stubborn and willful, more than a match for the fangs’ temptations and promises, but a weaker mind, say that of a pretty, young queen, would have no such defense. “ “The fragments of Kazavon’s soul are like a plant…once they find suitable soil in which to grow, they can bloom into a mighty tree. This seems to be the case with Ileosa…her own cruelty and strength have been enhanced greatly by the fangs. Worse, she now possesses two souls…her own, and one grown from the fragment of Kazavon’s. Two souls in one body would grant her incredible power over her own mortality.” “Now,” he leaned forward intently, “I suggest that you take part in an ancient Shoanti ritual known as the Blessing of the Ancestors. We use it only in times of great change. It calls upon a soul from the spirit world to seek guidance and advice on how to proceed. Is there a particular spirit or ancestor with whom any of you have a strong link? The stronger the link, the more exacting the advice granted becomes.” Immediately the group began discussing the options, with several suggesting family members or close friends. Only one of the companions remained silent…Katarina. At the Sun Shaman’s first suggestion, something began nagging at the back of the beguiler’s mind. Then, as the discussions and suggestions continued, it hit her, and she knew with certainty who their link should be. “Zellara,” she said. The tent became hushed as everyone turned to look at her. “She brought us together originally,” Kat said. “I still carry her harrow deck, a piece of her almost. She’s been our spiritual guide all along.” The others nodded in agreement. “It is decided , then,” the Sun Shaman nodded. _______________________________________________________ The ritual took place atop Bolt Rock. Though it was only the companions who sat with the Sun Shaman around a small campfire, the entire village of Flameford gathered atop the mesa to observe the proceedings. The Sun Shaman began by recounting the legends of the tribe and the heroics and wisdom of the ancestors in a sing-song voice, shifting after some ten minutes or so into wordless droning and rhythmic chanting. This went on for another two hours, at which point he slumped and a ghostly figure began to appear in the smoke of the fire. It was obviously Zellara. As she saw the group gathered, she smiled in recognition. “Katarina,” she said, “Ratbone, O’Reginald, and Herc. You’ve been joined by new friends, Michael and Raelak.” Trinia’s face fell when she realized that the spirit had not called her name. “I know why you have called me. The path you must take is clear to me. You must journey to Kazavon’s former stronghold, and claim the blade that laid him low. I have words for you about your goal,” Zellara continued, “but first I would like to perform a Harrowing for you.” Katarina pulled the gypsy’s harrow deck from her pouch and passed it to her. Zellara’s eyes glazed over as she began laying down the cards, leaving them hovering in mid-air. By and large, the Harrowing was typical for such things…ephemeral and vague, but at several points, Zellara pointed out specific cards. “The Eclipse,” she said to O’Reginald. “In this position, it speaks of the present. It represents the Brotherhood of Bones and their presence in this region.” She then turned to Raelak. “The Tyrant,” she said. “It represents Kazavon and his current influence over Ileosa. Also, I see the Eclipse for you as well, but this time in the future. It portends that many undead await you within the walls of Scarwall.” Raelak smiled grimly. Undead were anathema to his tribe, the Lyrune-Quah, and he relished the chance to destroy as many as possible. “Katarina,” Zellara said to the beguiler last, “my daughter. For you I have pulled the Keep. It is your future. It is Scarwall, where your destiny lies.” Then, once more, she addressed them all. “The cards tell me many things. The Past shows us Kazavon’s tyrannical rule over Belkzen, and his subsequent defeat by Mandraivus and his allies. The Present speaks of Queen Ileosa’s great power, and that confronting her without the sword of Mandraivus, Serithtial, would be a fool’s errand. Finally, the Future foreshadows the great evils you will encounter within Scarwall. Your wisdom will guide you. Gird yourselves against the undead and the touch of death. Also, beware that the so-called Brotherhood of Bones could be an important, perhaps even critical ally in the immediate future, but at the same time, you should be careful about how much you trust them.” Zellara paused for a moment, then, unexpectedly, began singing. “Fate of steel…Serithtial Her cage for years sustained Four enthralled in lost Scarwall; Undead to keep her chained. A spirit first, red war his thirst Still stands at post of old; A second foe, infernal soul Waits high in tower cold. In kennel’s grime, third bides his time Then vents his killing breath. And on a stone ‘mid ash and bone, The final dreams of death. The spirits worn and battletorn And locked in their damnation, The chained one’s hold at last grows old And ushers in salvation. Yet hope remains amid the chains When blade’s stone cage has crumbled, Friends to dread and the death of the dead, Keys to Kazavon humbled.” As she finished her song, Zellara smiled again, but it seemed somewhat sad or bittersweet. Suddenly, each of the companions felt a powerful upsurge in their souls as the spirits of the dead infused them with strength and energy. They knew that the souls of their ancestors would aid and watch over them in the dark days to come. The Shoanti stood amazed as the ritual ended and Zellara faded into darkness. Finally, Chief Ready-Klar broke the awestruck silence. “Truly these Friends of the Sun are blessed by the ancestors,” he said. “They walk with the spirits and bear their mark. They honor us with their presence and friendship. As they go forth to battle the evil that has plagued these lands of ash for many-score generations, they go with the power of the Sklar-Quah. They shall go forth with the power of Father Sun in their hands.” ___________________________________________________ “I’m not going with you,” Trinia said as she watched her friends pack up their gear. “What??” Ratbone asked as he stood and turned towards her. “Your spirit guide,” she said, “she didn’t mention me, but that’s not the only reason. There’s nothing I’d rather see more than for Ileosa to be brought to justice, but these things are beyond me. I’m a simple girl…an artist. I’m not used to all this, and now…well, I’ve been studying the history of the Shoanti, and it’s so rich! For the first time in a long time, I feel like I’m…home.” “I can understand the desire for home,” the druid nodded. “You will be missed. If we come through this, we will meet again.” “I look forward to that,” Trinia smiled. “I’ll paint your victory portrait!” The six companions said their goodbyes to their tribemates…their new friends and family. Then, they gathered around O’Reginald. The sorcerer spoke a few arcane words and the group was engulfed in shadows. When the darkness faded, the K.I.A. was gone… _________________________________________________________ The ancient fortress of Scarwall lay far to the north of the Cinderlands, in the orc infested Hold of Belkzen. The companions knew generally where it lay, but they also knew the trip would be arduous and dangerous, and they did not have time to waste. So it was that O’Reginald came up with the answer. He transported them to the Plane of Shadow, a dimension parallel to reality that was a monochromatic, darkness infused mirror image. It had its own share of dangers, but travel across it took a fraction of the time it would have taken in the real world. So rather than days, it took only hours for the party to reach the eastern tip of the Kodar Mountains, only a few miles from Scarwall itself. However, the structure they saw before them when they stepped from the shadow realm was not the ancient castle, but instead the bone tower of Shadowcount Sial. They approached the tower cautiously and once again, as if they were expected, the door at its base opened. This time, however, it was not just Sial and Asyra that came out, but also Laori Vaus. “Well, well,” Sial said, “here we are again. It seems fate has destined that our roads should join together regardless of our desires. Our offer to you remains the same…a truce.” Ratbone started to voice his refusal again, but then Kat’s telepathic voice spoke into his mind…into all of their minds. ‘Remember what Zellara told us,’ she said. ‘The Brotherhood of Bones may prove to be valuable allies for us.’ ‘Or traitors,’ Ratbone reminded. ‘We must let fate decide,’ Kat replied. ‘We cannot afford to reject aid freely offered at this juncture.’ Aloud, Ratbone sighed. “What is it that you propose?” he asked. It was Laori who answered, to the visible consternation of Sial. “Our goals are not so dissimilar,” she said smiling. “Our organization is very interested in Kazavon and his relics, but Ileosa doesn’t really fit into our plans. We would see her destroyed so that we might recover the teeth from the so-called Crown of Fangs. We suggest that, for now, we all work together, or at least not directly against each other while navigating the dangers of Scarwall, so that we might increase the likelihood that one of our two groups will succeed in obtaining the sword. Serithtial, being what it is, cannot be wielded by us, but you, not being followers of Zon-Kuthon, cannot freely access all of Scarwall. So you see? We need each other until the sword if freed. After that, we can then determine what our next step should be.” Ratbone remained silent for a time, then he nodded once. “Come then,” he said, “but we make you no promises, only that we will not draw blood against you unless you first betray our trust, or until our goals come into direct conflict.” Laori shrugged and smiled more broadly. “What more could we ask?” ________________________________________________________ The castle sat atop a small island in a crater lake in the caldera of a dormant volcano. The surrounding hills were desolate, with little more than a few isolated scrub trees and lichens growing here and there. The keep was an imposing collection of towers and fortifications. Clouds of dark carrion birds perched upon its pinnacles and rode the winds above its towers. A single span connected the castle to a small peninsula on the lake’s southern edge, where a crumbling gatehouse still stood. The barbican consisted of a moldering curtain wall that flanked the remains of two towers, the western one of which had collapsed. The other, though battered, still stood and supported a ramshackle lean-to built against it. As the company approached the edge of the peninsula, Ratbone, once more in his feral form, halted. He raised his muzzle to the sky, scenting the air. He closed his eyes and concentrated, sending his thoughts to Kat. ‘Orcs,’ he said. ‘I can smell their stink, and there are several on the upper two parapets of the tower. They must be squatters.’ No sooner had he communicated his observations than a volley of arrows went up from the top of the tower, as well as from behind arrow slits in the ground level. The projectiles fell among them, and the eight of them scattered in all directions. Kat began casting, cloaking the middle level of the tower in an impenetrable cloud of fog. Two orcs remained visible on the rooftop, however, and arrows continued to erupt from the ground floor arrow slits. Raelak knelt and drew his bow in one smooth motion, sending three arrows towards the tower in the blink of an eye. All three struck one of the orcs atop the roof, who roared in pain and dropped below the cover of the parapet. Herc and Ratbone, meanwhile, were in motion as well, running full out for the tower. Herc reached the walls first, slung his shield behind him, grabbed the rough handholds on the crumbling brick and began scaling it into the fog cloud above. Ratbone paused in front of the arrow slits, reached one massive paw inside, and felt something snap in his grasp. When he pulled his hand back out, he held an open-mouthed disembodied orc head. When Herc reached the battlement, he found it abandoned. No orcs stood within the mist. He began hurrying along the parapet towards the tower entrance. Suddenly, a pair of hooked chains arced over the edge of the platform, and a moment later Asyra hauled herself over. She locked her crimson eyes on the mercenary and simply nodded, then ran along beside him. When they rounded a corner, they found the tower door open, but in the room beyond, nine heavily armed and armored orcs waited. Down below, Ratbone reached through the slits again and disemboweled another pair of orcs. When he withdrew his bloody hands that time, no more arrows came after him. Suddenly, something hit the ground heavily behind him. He turned and saw an orc corpse riddled with Raelak’s arrows. He grunted in satisfaction as the remainder of the company ran past him and through the ground floor doors. The nearest orc swung a massive axe at Herc, who managed to deflect the brunt of the blow, but still felt his arm jarred all the way to his jaw. He prepared to counter, but then a bellowing roar sounded from the back of the room. The orcs parted, revealing a truly massive specimen behind them. His muscles bulged as he gripped his greatsword in both hands, and his red eyes burned behind the bleached skull tattoo on his face. He roared again and then rushed forward. Herc tried to brace himself, but when the hulking brute struck, the mercenary screamed as the orc’s blade severed a tendon in one of his biceps. Snarling and channeling his pain, Herc struck back, delivering a flurry of vicious blows. The orc chieftain didn’t even try to avoid them. He simply absorbed them, and howled at the sky, blood flowing freely from his wounds. Laori and Michael quickly climbed a ladder they found in the lean-to, and emerged atop the parapet behind Herc and Asyra. At that moment, the orcs in the room boiled out onto the battlement. The priestess of Zon-Kuthon laughed in delight as she whirled her spiked chain around her like a dervish. Asyra joined her, and orcs fell like cordwood before them. Michael could only marvel in horror and wonder at their display. Meanwhile, Herc stood toe-to-toe with the orc leader, and eventually, attrition took its toll. The brute could only ignore the mercenary’s withering assault for so long, though he continued to fight even as he was collapsing to the floor, stopping only when Herc brought the edge of his shield down on the barbarian’s neck. [/QUOTE]
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JollyDoc's Curse of the Crimson Throne: Updated 1/29/10
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