We left the entry tower and stepped out into the cold black night of the Shadowfell.
Moil must have been a singularly impressive sight centuries ago when it was still a living and vibrant city. Even today, after centuries of neglect, it inspires a sense of awe. We looked upon series of dark, basalt and granite towers hundreds of feet high, rising out of mist and darkness, connected by a latticework of stone bridges wide enough for 2 carts to pass by. Although several of the bridges have completely or partially collapsed many still remain.
We set out along the one path currently open to us, a bridge stretching hundreds of feet to the next tower. There are, of course, no railings on the side of the bridge but it is wide enough to be fairly safe. It feels stable. We are so far above the ground that we cannot see what lies below us except for darkness and mist.
Without incident we arrive at another great tower. Inside is a circular chamber with one exit to another bridge. But it is the chamber itself that is the most interesting. At the centre of the chamber is a shattered plinth made of a red rock that is of quite a different sort than those making up the towers and bridges. On the shattered plinth are some engravings carved in an older form of the Common tongue, one used during the height of Bhal Turath.
At Harbek’s very wise suggestion we decided to take rubbings of the stone fragments and then put together those rubbings rather than trying to restore the fragments themselves. This took some considerable time but was eventually successful. Almost all of the work was done by Harbek and myself, as we seemed to be the only ones with the patience and intellect sufficient for such a task.
Once restored, the message turned out to be a long riddle written by the Demi Liche- Acererak. I will not place the riddle here but it is, of course, sufficiently cryptic that we will probably never realize what all of the clues refer to and will realize too late what some of them mean.
I have so many thoughts and vague recollections of Acererak, but I am able to recall only fragments. I don't even know where those fragments come from. Were they stories that I read in my youth or heard in my long years of adventuring? Or are they fragments of memory coming to me from Allaine?
Some, I believe, must be fragments of memory. I remember being in his tomb, in passing many traps. I remember the fixed sphere of annihilation masquerading as a mouth. But I also know that there are no such things as spheres of annihilation known to contemporary magicians.
Between Harbek’s magic that allowed others to tap into my skills and my own Aria of Revelation we managed to piece together much of the history of Acererak and Moil. He had come here on a quest to turn himself into a God. While here, he had created many wonderous items and many foul undead. Fortunately, at least according to the stories, he was slain before he could finish his quest. But I can't help but recollect that old, old saying "The stories of his death were much exaggerated". I am filled with a sense of foreboding that we will encounter either him or some vestige of himself that has been left behind.
We then proceeded out of the chamber along another bridge leading to yet another tower. At least our path was reasonably clear since only one exit from the tower led to an intact bridge, the steps to the ground having long since collapsed away. We probably could have gotten to the ground and to other towers by a variety of means should such have become necessary, but we chose to take the path of least resistance, at least at first.
As we neared yet another tower, we were suddenly attacked. Three incorporeal undead rose up out of the bridge at the rear of the party while two gargoyles attacked the front. I want to say that they were specters and gargoyles, but both were more powerful than previous versions that I have encountered.
The battle was a quite hard fight. Incorporeal creatures that can disappear into the walkway are hard to bring to task. Our common tactic of blowing or teleporting opponents away was far less effective than normal against opponents with the ability to fly and hover with ease. The specters were able to get into the heads of my companions and I. They assaulted us with waking nightmares that tore at our minds and souls, leaving us dazed while we tried to regain our composures.
At one point, Turak used his ability to call on the Earth spirits to shake the ground. Fortunately, the bridge managed to withstand the violence inflicted upon it, although several pieces of masonry fell loose and plummeted into the depths. I believe that he learned his lesson and will be more careful in the future.
Eventually, we prevailed over our foes, but the battle had sorely weakened us. We retreated off the catwalk back into the tower with the plinth, and there I cast a ritual to take us into a safe location within the Feywild where we could recover our strength. I couldn't help but notice and be concerned by the fact that we had managed such a short distance here in Moil before requiring rest.
In the confined room of a great tree within the Feywild we rested. Smar amused and annoyed us with his antics as he constantly tried to stalk Turak within a space no larger than a small longhouse.
After our rest, we then returned to Moil and proceeded on our quest.
We entered another tower, a tower almost ruined by the ravages of time but still somehow surviving despite the numerous holes in the floor and in the walls. In the centre of the room there was a circular, raised platform of stone surrounded by numerous mystical wards. I could sense that the platform had magics on it that would take us elsewhere.
I don't know how long I spent slowly and carefully studying the wards and protections on the platform. It was one of the most fascinating puzzles I had ever been presented with. This was clearly the work of a master magician, a magician far more powerful than I am. I am absolutely certain that I would not have been able to defeat the wards if they were at full strength and were intended to completely keep me out. I cannot be certain, but it seems to me that the wards were deliberately crafted so that a magician of sufficient power could bypass them with enough time and effort. Clearly these were the work of Acererak. I am very afraid that he is somehow still alive and is just playing with us for his own amusement.
I had managed to disarm one of the wards and was near to removing the second when circumstances changed in a rather dramatic and dismal fashion. A great and powerful undead monstrosity attacked us. It was a gargantuan, incorporeal thing seemingly made out of the spirits of dozens or hundreds of screaming beings. It was though the entire cursed population of Moil had merged to form a single horrific entity.
It soon became exceedingly apparent that this being was beyond our ability to fight. In its first appearance it caused Smar to recoil in fear and fall through one of the many holes in the floor into the darkness below. Tentacles lashed out from it engulfing Turak and greatly damaging Harbek. Kanis used his primal magic to conjure a pit to the Feywild to keep the foul thing contained, but it continually escaped from the trap.
I was quite surprised to find that I apparently have a much greater degree of internal fortitude than do my companions. I'm not too surprised that the feral natures of both Kanis and Smar let the panic overcome them sufficiently that they literally lost control of their bladders, but I was amazed to learn that Harbek and Ardyn were similarly affected. Turak’s resistance to the fear was to be expected. As for myself, I don't think that my reaction was so much caused by massive bravery as by the fact that I no longer really fear death. It will come when it comes, and I will go to whatever fate awaits me. I have made my peace with that unpleasant fact and, while I hope that it will be delayed a long time, I am ready to die today.
I started to quickly and frantically try to remove the remaining wards. Clearly, opening up the platform and leaving by it was our only means of survival. I was probably imagining the chuckle that I heard as I did this.
While this consumed my full attentions, my companions did what they could to survive and slow the monstrosity down. The spirits summoned by Smar and Ardyn kept blowing it back into the small area of Fey space created by Kanis, but it kept managing to escape from that trap. The most crucial part of the spirits’ aid was that they moved the undead horror, but not whomever was engulfed at the time.
After what felt like hours, but was actually only perhaps thirty seconds, I managed to disarm the last of the wards with some assistance from Harbek, and we all frantically threw ourselves through the portal. Fortunately, at this crucial moment, the Fey Trap succeeded in keeping the monster within its bounds, if only for a few seconds, and we all managed to get through the portal.
We fell into a large circular chamber. Enscribed on the floor was a relief structure shaped in the form of a huge, green devil head with closed eyes, the symbol of Acererak- complete with a large black area representing its mouth. We fell onto this structure, Smar having the great misfortune to fall straight into the mouth. Of course the gaping maw was no mundane opening. Inside was what turned out to be a relic similar to a Sphere of Annihilation, but fortunately much less powerful, as it only weakened and injured Smar as opposed to destroying him outright. With some effort he managed to climb out of the mouth wounded by alive.
We were then attacked by yet more incorporeal undead. I am detecting a theme here. Three of them swept down from the ceiling and assaulted us. Since we were already weakened by the fight with the undead horror only moments ago this fight was harder than it might otherwise have been. The mouth affected the wraiths as well as ourselves, so a great deal of the fight revolved around trying to shove the sword wraiths into the sculpture’s mouth. At any rate, after some rather intense violence we managed to succeed in destroying our undead enemies.
We then took stock of the room and our surroundings. The room had ten archways filled with cool, gray mist spread around its circumference, each one was very clearly a portal of some sort.
What was probably most alarming was that I was able to determine that we couldn’t contact other Planes from this area. That means that our rituals of Solace Bole and Planar Portal will not work here. Some of our other abilities are also likely affected although the exact details are not completely clear. I suspect that the Fey Trap spell will not function, but I believe that my Arcane Gate may.
Despite spending considerable time studying one of the gates, I was unable to discern anything about where it led or whether it would have unfortunate side effects.
Smar, at that point, grew impatient and walked through one of the gates at random, instantly reappearing inside the mouth of “near annihilation”. He was obviously far more upset by the fact that his armour did not reappear with him than he was by the damage the mouth inflicted on him.
I then did what I should have done before and would have done if Smar had not precipitated things- I cast a Hand of Fate Ritual, asking what door we should proceed through and which door would lead us to Smar’s armour.
Smar stepped through the indicated door but reappeared in the mouth, this time with all of his items still present. I then did what I should have done long before. My only excuse for this second lapse was that the encounter a few minutes before had rattled me more than I had realized. I studied the relief on the floor and scavenged through my memories and realized that the version here was wrong. Both eyes were closed, whereas the true insignia of Acererak has both eyes open.
After the rest of us stepped back to a safe distance, Turak smashed the eyes. A great wave of energy slightly bruised him but didn't reach the walls where we stood. The mouth of the green devil became an empty pit, a pit with a portal in the bottom of it.
At least for the moment we seem to have disarmed the magical sphere. We now have little choice but to proceed through the portal. I am filled with a great sense of dread. The words of Odin are echoing through my mind. And I feel that Acererak wants us to proceed, at least if we are sufficiently powerful to pass his initial tests. I am very much afraid that we are dancing on the threads of Fate and are doomed to both succeed and fail at the same time. Our very success may be a key factor in the coming of Ragnarok.
But it cannot be that simple. In the stories Acerak DID fail. The champions of Rao destroyed him and his Fortress of Conclusion. Odin DID send us here. Perhaps if we are very careful we can succeed. Or perhaps in our failure we will gain knowledge or powers crucial to our final success. Maybe only certain death awaits us (GM note: prophetic words, as will be seen soon). I am sure that Acererak would have it so.
Moil must have been a singularly impressive sight centuries ago when it was still a living and vibrant city. Even today, after centuries of neglect, it inspires a sense of awe. We looked upon series of dark, basalt and granite towers hundreds of feet high, rising out of mist and darkness, connected by a latticework of stone bridges wide enough for 2 carts to pass by. Although several of the bridges have completely or partially collapsed many still remain.
We set out along the one path currently open to us, a bridge stretching hundreds of feet to the next tower. There are, of course, no railings on the side of the bridge but it is wide enough to be fairly safe. It feels stable. We are so far above the ground that we cannot see what lies below us except for darkness and mist.
Without incident we arrive at another great tower. Inside is a circular chamber with one exit to another bridge. But it is the chamber itself that is the most interesting. At the centre of the chamber is a shattered plinth made of a red rock that is of quite a different sort than those making up the towers and bridges. On the shattered plinth are some engravings carved in an older form of the Common tongue, one used during the height of Bhal Turath.
At Harbek’s very wise suggestion we decided to take rubbings of the stone fragments and then put together those rubbings rather than trying to restore the fragments themselves. This took some considerable time but was eventually successful. Almost all of the work was done by Harbek and myself, as we seemed to be the only ones with the patience and intellect sufficient for such a task.
Once restored, the message turned out to be a long riddle written by the Demi Liche- Acererak. I will not place the riddle here but it is, of course, sufficiently cryptic that we will probably never realize what all of the clues refer to and will realize too late what some of them mean.
I have so many thoughts and vague recollections of Acererak, but I am able to recall only fragments. I don't even know where those fragments come from. Were they stories that I read in my youth or heard in my long years of adventuring? Or are they fragments of memory coming to me from Allaine?
Some, I believe, must be fragments of memory. I remember being in his tomb, in passing many traps. I remember the fixed sphere of annihilation masquerading as a mouth. But I also know that there are no such things as spheres of annihilation known to contemporary magicians.
Between Harbek’s magic that allowed others to tap into my skills and my own Aria of Revelation we managed to piece together much of the history of Acererak and Moil. He had come here on a quest to turn himself into a God. While here, he had created many wonderous items and many foul undead. Fortunately, at least according to the stories, he was slain before he could finish his quest. But I can't help but recollect that old, old saying "The stories of his death were much exaggerated". I am filled with a sense of foreboding that we will encounter either him or some vestige of himself that has been left behind.
We then proceeded out of the chamber along another bridge leading to yet another tower. At least our path was reasonably clear since only one exit from the tower led to an intact bridge, the steps to the ground having long since collapsed away. We probably could have gotten to the ground and to other towers by a variety of means should such have become necessary, but we chose to take the path of least resistance, at least at first.
As we neared yet another tower, we were suddenly attacked. Three incorporeal undead rose up out of the bridge at the rear of the party while two gargoyles attacked the front. I want to say that they were specters and gargoyles, but both were more powerful than previous versions that I have encountered.
The battle was a quite hard fight. Incorporeal creatures that can disappear into the walkway are hard to bring to task. Our common tactic of blowing or teleporting opponents away was far less effective than normal against opponents with the ability to fly and hover with ease. The specters were able to get into the heads of my companions and I. They assaulted us with waking nightmares that tore at our minds and souls, leaving us dazed while we tried to regain our composures.
At one point, Turak used his ability to call on the Earth spirits to shake the ground. Fortunately, the bridge managed to withstand the violence inflicted upon it, although several pieces of masonry fell loose and plummeted into the depths. I believe that he learned his lesson and will be more careful in the future.
Eventually, we prevailed over our foes, but the battle had sorely weakened us. We retreated off the catwalk back into the tower with the plinth, and there I cast a ritual to take us into a safe location within the Feywild where we could recover our strength. I couldn't help but notice and be concerned by the fact that we had managed such a short distance here in Moil before requiring rest.
In the confined room of a great tree within the Feywild we rested. Smar amused and annoyed us with his antics as he constantly tried to stalk Turak within a space no larger than a small longhouse.
After our rest, we then returned to Moil and proceeded on our quest.
We entered another tower, a tower almost ruined by the ravages of time but still somehow surviving despite the numerous holes in the floor and in the walls. In the centre of the room there was a circular, raised platform of stone surrounded by numerous mystical wards. I could sense that the platform had magics on it that would take us elsewhere.
I don't know how long I spent slowly and carefully studying the wards and protections on the platform. It was one of the most fascinating puzzles I had ever been presented with. This was clearly the work of a master magician, a magician far more powerful than I am. I am absolutely certain that I would not have been able to defeat the wards if they were at full strength and were intended to completely keep me out. I cannot be certain, but it seems to me that the wards were deliberately crafted so that a magician of sufficient power could bypass them with enough time and effort. Clearly these were the work of Acererak. I am very afraid that he is somehow still alive and is just playing with us for his own amusement.
I had managed to disarm one of the wards and was near to removing the second when circumstances changed in a rather dramatic and dismal fashion. A great and powerful undead monstrosity attacked us. It was a gargantuan, incorporeal thing seemingly made out of the spirits of dozens or hundreds of screaming beings. It was though the entire cursed population of Moil had merged to form a single horrific entity.
It soon became exceedingly apparent that this being was beyond our ability to fight. In its first appearance it caused Smar to recoil in fear and fall through one of the many holes in the floor into the darkness below. Tentacles lashed out from it engulfing Turak and greatly damaging Harbek. Kanis used his primal magic to conjure a pit to the Feywild to keep the foul thing contained, but it continually escaped from the trap.
I was quite surprised to find that I apparently have a much greater degree of internal fortitude than do my companions. I'm not too surprised that the feral natures of both Kanis and Smar let the panic overcome them sufficiently that they literally lost control of their bladders, but I was amazed to learn that Harbek and Ardyn were similarly affected. Turak’s resistance to the fear was to be expected. As for myself, I don't think that my reaction was so much caused by massive bravery as by the fact that I no longer really fear death. It will come when it comes, and I will go to whatever fate awaits me. I have made my peace with that unpleasant fact and, while I hope that it will be delayed a long time, I am ready to die today.
I started to quickly and frantically try to remove the remaining wards. Clearly, opening up the platform and leaving by it was our only means of survival. I was probably imagining the chuckle that I heard as I did this.
While this consumed my full attentions, my companions did what they could to survive and slow the monstrosity down. The spirits summoned by Smar and Ardyn kept blowing it back into the small area of Fey space created by Kanis, but it kept managing to escape from that trap. The most crucial part of the spirits’ aid was that they moved the undead horror, but not whomever was engulfed at the time.
After what felt like hours, but was actually only perhaps thirty seconds, I managed to disarm the last of the wards with some assistance from Harbek, and we all frantically threw ourselves through the portal. Fortunately, at this crucial moment, the Fey Trap succeeded in keeping the monster within its bounds, if only for a few seconds, and we all managed to get through the portal.
We fell into a large circular chamber. Enscribed on the floor was a relief structure shaped in the form of a huge, green devil head with closed eyes, the symbol of Acererak- complete with a large black area representing its mouth. We fell onto this structure, Smar having the great misfortune to fall straight into the mouth. Of course the gaping maw was no mundane opening. Inside was what turned out to be a relic similar to a Sphere of Annihilation, but fortunately much less powerful, as it only weakened and injured Smar as opposed to destroying him outright. With some effort he managed to climb out of the mouth wounded by alive.
We were then attacked by yet more incorporeal undead. I am detecting a theme here. Three of them swept down from the ceiling and assaulted us. Since we were already weakened by the fight with the undead horror only moments ago this fight was harder than it might otherwise have been. The mouth affected the wraiths as well as ourselves, so a great deal of the fight revolved around trying to shove the sword wraiths into the sculpture’s mouth. At any rate, after some rather intense violence we managed to succeed in destroying our undead enemies.
We then took stock of the room and our surroundings. The room had ten archways filled with cool, gray mist spread around its circumference, each one was very clearly a portal of some sort.
What was probably most alarming was that I was able to determine that we couldn’t contact other Planes from this area. That means that our rituals of Solace Bole and Planar Portal will not work here. Some of our other abilities are also likely affected although the exact details are not completely clear. I suspect that the Fey Trap spell will not function, but I believe that my Arcane Gate may.
Despite spending considerable time studying one of the gates, I was unable to discern anything about where it led or whether it would have unfortunate side effects.
Smar, at that point, grew impatient and walked through one of the gates at random, instantly reappearing inside the mouth of “near annihilation”. He was obviously far more upset by the fact that his armour did not reappear with him than he was by the damage the mouth inflicted on him.
I then did what I should have done before and would have done if Smar had not precipitated things- I cast a Hand of Fate Ritual, asking what door we should proceed through and which door would lead us to Smar’s armour.
Smar stepped through the indicated door but reappeared in the mouth, this time with all of his items still present. I then did what I should have done long before. My only excuse for this second lapse was that the encounter a few minutes before had rattled me more than I had realized. I studied the relief on the floor and scavenged through my memories and realized that the version here was wrong. Both eyes were closed, whereas the true insignia of Acererak has both eyes open.
After the rest of us stepped back to a safe distance, Turak smashed the eyes. A great wave of energy slightly bruised him but didn't reach the walls where we stood. The mouth of the green devil became an empty pit, a pit with a portal in the bottom of it.
At least for the moment we seem to have disarmed the magical sphere. We now have little choice but to proceed through the portal. I am filled with a great sense of dread. The words of Odin are echoing through my mind. And I feel that Acererak wants us to proceed, at least if we are sufficiently powerful to pass his initial tests. I am very much afraid that we are dancing on the threads of Fate and are doomed to both succeed and fail at the same time. Our very success may be a key factor in the coming of Ragnarok.
But it cannot be that simple. In the stories Acerak DID fail. The champions of Rao destroyed him and his Fortress of Conclusion. Odin DID send us here. Perhaps if we are very careful we can succeed. Or perhaps in our failure we will gain knowledge or powers crucial to our final success. Maybe only certain death awaits us (GM note: prophetic words, as will be seen soon). I am sure that Acererak would have it so.
