Piratecat's Updated Story Hour! (update 4/03 and 4/06)

[Piratecat]

Completely entranced and smiling vacantly, Velendo takes another step towards the dull black portal.

Splinder realizes what is probably happening and barks a command in dwarvish. Like a well-oiled machine, a dozen dwarven troops charge across the room towards the portals. They can’t reach Velendo in time; he’s just too far away. They can reach Agar and Priggle, though, and two teams of dwarven soldiers pig-pile on top of the only people shorter than they are. Within seconds, the gnome’s and halfling’s toes are the only things that can be seen under the two piles of sprawled dwarves.

Velendo pauses and watches the dwarves with mild concern, frowning slightly. “No, it’s fine,” he comforts with a tone of certainty. “Stop worrying. Honestly, I know what I’m doing.”

He turns back towards the portal. As he does so, Galthia decides that enough is enough and sprints towards him from across the room. The monk is fast; before Velendo can complete another step towards the portal, the githzerai has crossed the distance and has swept Velendo’s feet out from under him. “Sorry about this,” Galthia says quietly, and then slams his iron-hard fist into the softness of Velendo’s belly. Velendo whoofs air outwards, and Galthia sits down on him and wrenches his arm into an unbreakable shoulder lock.

“Oooof! What are you doing? Get off of me!” Velendo gasps under the weight of the monk. “What are you, possessed?”

“No. But you might be. Stay still.”

The rest of the group is hurrying forward as well. Mara narrows her eyes at Glibstone and issues him a command. “Glibstone! Figure out which portal gets us out of here!” Glibstone starts to object, but there's something of steel in Mara’s voice, and instead Glibstone bows slightly to her in agreement. He hurries forward and starts examining each portal in turn, focusing on his work and tuning out the others – grunting dwarves, Nolin casting eyebite, Malachite detecting evil, Tao attempting to talk sense into Velendo.

“Velendo, listen to me! Is what you’re doing reasonable?”

“What? Of course it is!” Velendo lifts his head, and has it knocked back by Galthia. The portal is right there! So close! It’s the most interesting thing in the room by far, and Velendo can hear it calling to him.

“No it isn’t,” Tao answers. “You’re trying to rush into an unknown portal. You would never do such a thing normally. Something has enchanted your mind.”

“Don’t be stupid,” the old cleric scoffs. “I have more willpower than anyone else in this group! Nothing is going to affect me like that.” The cleric rolls his eyes in annoyance and does his best to wiggle free. Tao sees the attempt, and decides to err on the side of caution. She drops a wall of thorns on top of Velendo and Galthia, completely blocking the suspicious portal. Velendo tries to wrench free again, and yelps as holy thorns tear into his skin. “Ha ha, very funny, a wall.” His voice is slightly muffled by the thorns. “Is this REALLY necessary?”

“Yes,” answers Galthia shortly. He finds that he can shift slightly within the thorns, at least enough to maintain his grip on Velendo. The thorns hurt, but they stop Velendo from moving, so it is a pain he can bear.

“I’ve used eyebite to put both Agar and Priggle to sleep,” announces Nolin. A rumbling snore issues from a sleeping, frowning Priggle. “But I can’t affect Velendo if I can’t meet his eye.”

“Nice work, Nolin,” says Mara. “He might be immune anyways. Glibstone! Have you found the exit?”

Glibstone, over near the other portals, glances over with irritation. “No, I think that – yoww!” The loremaster’s bells jingle as he tumbles up towards the 30’ tall ceiling. Inches before he hits it, a 10’ diameter circle of glowing runes appear in the ceiling’s plaster. Glibstone falls upwards right into the magical portal, instantaneously reappears back near the floor, continuing to fall upwards faster and faster within the reverse gravity field. A dozen of his flickering shadows, each thrown by the light from a different glowing magical sword in the nearby weapon racks, follow him on the nearby wall.

“Uh oh,” says Nolin. “I think we have a problem.” He studies the dwarf even as he notices the interesting doppler effect of Glibstone’s screams. AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA jingle… AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA jingle… AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA! With a small shudder of horror, Nolin realizes that the ring of runes on the ceiling is quickly getting smaller and smaller in diameter. Within a few seconds, the ring of runes will be smaller than the dwarf, and instead of teleporting downwards he’ll slap into the ceiling with a very wet smack! “Nice acoustics in here. But we DEFINITELY have a problem.”

Malachite frowns. “And there’s something evil in here, as well. A sword, perhaps? Maybe even something undead, although I’m not sure. If you can help Glibstone and they have Velendo under control, I’ll check it out.”

Nolin rolls his eyes and sighs as Malachite bounds up the stairs past the snoring Agar and hurtling Glibstone. “It can take a number and wait in line with everyone else. But sure.”

Tao is still talking to Velendo, trying to reason with him. “Look, if I remove the wall, do you promise not to try to go through the portal?”

Velendo’s voice emerges from under the thick thorns. “Yes. That seems reasonable.”

“You sure? You promise?”

“Of course I’m sure!”

“All right, then.” Tao dismisses the thorns, and Velendo immediately tries to roll towards the portal. Galthia is ready for him, though, and proceeds to beat the elderly cleric into total unconsciousness. Most of the other people in the room wince and turn away as Galthia slaps down on pressure points and joints, thumping him and choking off Velendo’s air supply until the cleric stops moving.

“Ooof,” says Splinder as Galthia’s other fist pistons down. “That’s gotta hurt.”

Nolin’s occupied by other things, of course. He casts feather fall on the hurtling dwarf. Doing so instantly slows the loremaster’s speed from 200 miles an hour down to 20 miles an hour, and as the ring of runes shrinks into nothingness, he smacks into the ceiling with a clattering jingle. He lies spreadeagled on the ceiling, apparently unhurt other than a small nose bleed.

“Urrgle,” exclaims Glibstone. “Whurf!”

“Here’s a rope,” says Nolin as he tosses up a line into the reverse gravity zone. “Let’s haul you out.”

“Thuggl.”

As Glibstone wobbles over to a corner deep in shock, the group reconvenes and wakes up Velendo. “Look,” announces Tao authoritatively as the cleric regains consciousness, “you’re not acting rationally. You lied to me. Can’t you see this?”

Velendo shakes his head to clear it. “There’s nothing wrong with that portal!” Tao snorts.

“Watch.” She takes an arrow and slides half of it into the flat, inky blackness. She pulls it out, and the arrow is sheared off cleanly half way across.

• --> At this point Velendo fails his second will save, rolling a natural one. Just one of those days.

“Well of course it would do that!” says Velendo with authority. “You can’t pull it back halfway, and anyways it isn’t alive! Look, I know these things, and I have a good feeling about that portal. I’ll tell you what. I can *prove* to you that it’s fine.”

The company falls silent. “How?”

“I have a spell that can regenerate body parts. Just let me touch it with one finger. If you’re right, I’ll apologize and cast the spell to get the tip of my finger back. If I’m right – and I am – you get to apologize to me.” The group exchanges a look.

“Can you cast it one handed?”

Velendo fixes Mara with a look. “Of course I can cast it one handed. But I won’t need to.”

“Uh huh.” The group exchanges another look. “I think we should,” says Nolin. “It might be the only way.” So the group carefully grapples Velendo. With three people hanging on to him in such a way that he can’t possibly lurch forwards, they slowly approach the black portal. Velendo stretches out his hand.

“You see?” he asks as he pokes his little finger forward, the portal’s silent song encompassing him and filling him with happiness. “Now watch. It’s just fi--” His little finger touches the darkness, and his whole hand is yanked forwards by some irresistible force. The Defenders strain, and shove Velendo backwards before more than his wrist disappears into the darkness. He lands flat on his back.

“Fine?” finishes Velendo. He stares at the severed stump of his wrist as bright red blood fountains up into the air, and the jagged pain slices through him.

To be continued….

 

[jonrog1]

In honor of Wulf's coming move:

***************************

A large flowchart with several hundred squares, each bearing a faction, family, or religion connected by multiple arrows, each arrow indicating a subtley different relationship, adorns a large wall.

Two figures stand before it. They've been there for seven hours while the tall one explains the chart. The shorter of the two is still holding a bloodstained axe. In the distance, a large section of a rich city neighborhood burns.

Nolin: "It's not that we don't appreciate your enthusiasm, but you as you can see, err ..."

Wulf: "Wulf."

Nolin: "Yes. You see, that's the complex web of intrigue and influence we must weave while forging forward on our herioc path. We must always finely balance along the narrow path in the shifting sands of betrayal, trust, and knowledge. "

Wulf: "Right."

Nolin: "So you've got it?"

Wulf: "Got it."

A long beat.

Wulf: (unfolding parchment) "So, could you just write down who needs boot applied to ass in what order, exactly. Just the first fifty or so. That'll keep me busy for a week."

Nolin: *sigh*

 

[KidCthulhu]

Wulf: (unfolding parchment) "So, could you just write down who needs boot applied to ass in what order, exactly. Just the first fifty or so. That'll keep me busy for a week."

Nolin: *sigh*

LOL! The following scene, however, would definitely have Nol following Wulf around town on his little errand. Ostensibly he'd be an "observer" but he'd really be there for the chance to apply a little boot leather to some posterior without worrying about the consequences.

Just once.

 

[Plane Sailing]

... but he'd really be there for the chance to apply a little boot leather to some posterior without worrying about the consequences.

Just once.

You jest, right?

"Oooo, his posterior was all that was holding back the modron march, now you're for it!"

 

[Plane Sailing]

While we're off topic...

A PirateCat set out to retrieve his buried treasure. After months of hard sailing his ship caught site of land, the island to which his treasure map had been leading. He and his first mate disembarked on the island to search out the buried treasure, which was supposed to lie hidden deep within a swamp at the centre of the island.

Sure enough, at the centre of the island was a swamp. The PirateCat and his first mate bravely waded into it. Soon the swamp began to get deeper, and their feet, then their ankles, and finally their legs right up to their knees were covered in swamp muck. Suddenly the PirateCat banged his shin against something hard. He reached down, searched around, and pulled up a treasure chest.

Prying the lock open, they saw that the chest revealed gold and jewels beyond imagination. The PirateCat turned to his first mate and said, "Arrrr, matey, that just goes to show ye, booty is only shin deep!"


Cheers

 

[Piratecat]

Karthos quivers by Malachite’s side. The paladin has just sheathed him for making suggestive comments to Tao, and is reluctant to draw him again. “What is it?” he asks tiredly.

”There are undead nearby!”

Malachite spins around, taking in the racks of swords, the pale-faced Glibstone, the Defenders clustered around Velendo, the sleeping forms of Agar and Priggle. “Where?” Then he sees something shimmer up on the left-hand balcony. The faint form of a dwarf slowly appears, so gradually that Malachite has to blink twice before the shape swims into focus. The ghost is transparent, skinny compared to most of Moradin’s folk, but weighed down with innumerable locks and chains.

Malachite steps forward, his intelligent sword Karthos held outwards in front of him. “Declare yourself and your intentions!” He glances down at his sword, which is twisting oddly in his hand.

”You!” exclaims Karthos, speaking to the ghost. There is clear recognition – and hatred – in its metallic voice.

The dwarf stops advancing, goggles down at them for a few seconds, and leans forward against the edge of a railing to bury its ghostly head into both ghostly hands.

“By Moradin’s nipple. You! I thought I was over and done with you ages ago.” His voice is weary and gruff as it looks up. “What, is this some kind of cruel joke? My existence isn’t miserable enough, you’re sticking me in here with that?” Pale eyes survey the Defenders. “Not punishment enough, I suppose. Just what I needed.”

Malachite glances down at his sword. “You know this spirit?”

The sword sounds bitter. “Oh, I know him. But I don’t trust him. I used to adventure with him. Sir Malachite, you have before you Olum Shiverstone, despicable coward and betrayer of Sir Aleax, my former wielder.”

Nolin looks up from the small, pink finger buds of Velendo’s regenerating hand. “What? You mean from their trip down here before, when they tried to destroy the ghouls the first time?”

“Coward?” The ghost draws itself to its full height, which isn’t especially impressive, and scowls at the sword. Locks and chains swing heavily across its broad body. “Coward? You pathetic, sanctimonious clump of iron! In life you browbeat me for months, and when I’m finally convinced that I’m free of you forever, here you are to lie and insult me again. I did what I was hired to do. Just because I wasn’t stupid enough to get caught in a cave-in, that doesn’t make me a betrayer!”

Karthos’ voice is bitter, dismissive. “You could have rescued them. You rescued me.”

The ghost glares. “I could reach you. It was a little harder to reach under a couple of hundred tons of fallen rock. You were quiet at the time. It was a nice change.”

Nolin looks excited. “It was you who placed the sword on the angelic pegasus, to be carried out of the caverns back into the world?” Olum looks confused.

“Err. Pegasus? I strapped it to a pack mule.”

Malachite and Mara look at each other, each remembering the holy teachings that this statement contradicts. “A… pack mule?”

Nolin cocks an eyebrow. “But you did send it out of the underdark for others of Aeos’ faith to find, right?”

Olum shakes his head, face downcast. “Sort of. Damn thing ran before I could get more loot strapped on it. Mules always hate me.” He sighs. “It was a white pack mule. That help? Maybe it got robbed by someone on a pegasus before it made the surface.” The ghost tries to manage a half-hearted smile, but doesn’t especially manage it. “I was hired as guide and scout. That’s all. Not that this damn toothpick,” he indicates Karthos, “has ever called me anything but liar or thief.”

Velendo looks up from where he is nursing his new hand. “But you knew Saint Aleax, and Saint Morak of Calphas?” Velendo’s voice is hopeful, tinged with awe and wonder. “What was he like?” In response, the ghost tries to suppress a chortle of laughter.

“Saint Aleax? Saint Morak? Oh, that’s good! If they were saints, then I’m a delicate little fairy princess.” Velendo frowns as Olum continues. “Yeah, I knew Morak. Greedy bastard. Used to dice with me for treasure. Charged for healing, every once in a while. He was a nice enough guy, though. Unlike Aleax. That guy was a conceited prick.”

Tao nods. “Yes, we’ve met him.” Mara shushes her with a disapproving gesture.

“Met him? How? He’s dead.” Olum looks panicky for a minute. “Don’t tell me he’s a ghost, too!”

“No. But it’s a long story.”

“Thank Moradin.”

Velendo stares at the ghost. “…greedy?”

Malachite flexes his gloved hands. “Give me one reason why you shouldn’t be destroyed like the abomination you have become.”

“A little hostile, paladin? Oh, I’ve met your type before. All righteous and disapproving. If I hadn’t seen your surprise, I wouldn’t have put it past you to bring that damn sword here, for no other reason other than to make my existence more miserable than it’s already become. Careful; you become what you’re called, you know.” He laughs hollowly.

Mara whispers from behind Malachite. “He isn’t evil.”

Malachite twists his head. “What?” Mara repeats her comment.

“He isn’t evil – or if he is, he isn’t detecting as such.”

Nolin gazes up at the ghost with curiosity. “How’d you get here, anyways? You trapped?” Olum’s face slumps from anger into dejected frustration.

“Hmmph. Killed by one of these damn traps while trying to rob this place. I had made it away from our little ghoul debacle safe and sound, the only person in our group to survive, and I even made a little treasure off of it. It took weeks to pick my way through tunnels back into the upper depths. On the way out I stopped here in Mrid, and thought I’d avail myself of some of their riches.” Olum waves his hands about in frustration, barely getting them to shoulder height before the weight of the spectral chains drag them back downwards. “I survived months in the company of paladins, and pretty much had nothing to show for it but a poor self-image and enough nightmares to last me for decades. Was it so wrong? So I break in here, make one stupid mistake, and the next thing I know King Horox has my blasted soul bound to this vault as a stinkin’ guardian. Oh, very funny, yes, I understand irony, thank you so much Your Majesty.” Annoyance radiates off of the ghost like light shining from a lantern. “So here I am, chained and dutiful, and here I’ll stay until someone wants to take me out of here with them.”

Splinder gazes up at the figure as he leans on his axe. “Voluntarily? Or do you try to possess people?”

The ghost snorts. “Do you see me trying to possess anyone? No, voluntarily. They have to let me in. Oh, I’m ‘working off my debt’, I suppose. Every year one of these links of chain disappears. One a year.” He sighs and gestures towards Malachite. “It’s going to be a while. Just tell me I’m not gonna be stuck here listening to torch-boy prattle on the whole time.”

“Worm!” exclaims Karthos. ”You have no right…”

“Oh, sure,” interrupts Olum, “but you like listening to yourself. Always have. That’s one of the things I’ve never liked about you.” He crosses his transparent arms with difficulty. “That, and hitting on our elven wizard. Pathetic.”

Malachite wheels and looks at the other heroes. “I see no reason we should tolerate this,” he states flatly.

“Well, you break in here and insult me - ”

“You’ve been doing nothing other than uttering heresies and accusing -”

“Enough, Malachite. Both of you. Please.” Velendo looks at Nolin, and Nolin gazes up at the dwarf.

“Olum, you know those tunnels? You remember how to get to the ghoulish lands?”

The ghostly dwarf harrumphs noisily. “Of course I do. But I’m never going back there. I’ve had enough of those damn things for a lifetime and an afterlife, thanks. No.” Nolin and Velendo exchange a meaningful glance. “Why are you people here, anyways?”

Tao speaks up. “You didn’t finish the job last time, and the ghouls have come to us. They’ve destroyed Mrid. They’re headed for the surface, and we’re trying to stop them.”

Olum looks confused. “Destroyed Mrid? You’re kidding, right?”

“Oh, no,” says Galthia. “We’re not kidding at all.” Olum looks horrified.

“Well, I suppose it doesn’t matter,” sighs Velendo, flexing his brand new fingers. “We’re just gathering weapons and passing on through the vault. What’s behind this one?”

Olum tugs on his transparent beard, still trying to understand what he was told. “Eh? Never been on from here. Two rooms, I think. Say, all the dwarves, dead? And after all that, we failed before?”

Mara shakes her head. “Most of them. None left in the city. And apparently yes.”

Olum frowns. “I thought… It’s up to me whether or not you proceed. I’m supposed to bar entrance to those that the King would want stopped. And I could, you know.” He smiles coldly. Suddenly, the clatter and clang of weapons fills the large room as every single magical weapon flies from its rack. Most of the glowing weapons clang into one another and somehow adhere, and within seconds three huge golems loom above the heroes – one made from magical swords, one from magical spears and polearms, and one from magical hammers and maces.

Someone gulps. The dwarven troops raise their weapons. And, just as quickly as they formed, the golems dissolve and scatter their weapons across the stone floor.

“But I’m not going to. You’re here to help dwarves, huh? I won’t stop you from that.” He shoots a resentful glance towards Malachite and Karthos. “No matter what some people may think of me.”

Glibstone speaks up in a fragile voice, not even bothering to tell a joke. “I have found the correct portal and unlocked it. If we’re ready.”

“Hang on.” Tao considers the miracle of the atonement spell and approaches the ghost, sympathy on her face. “I might be able to help, you know, if you’re truly sorry about what you did.”

“Sorry?” Olum considers. “Well, to be honest, I’m sorry I got caught. But I’d probably do it again. This place is too big a temptation for a master craftsman.” He shoots a final bitter glance over towards Malachite and Karthos. “And I have nothing else to feel guilty about.”

Tao shrugs. “Okay. You’re the one who’s bound.”

Olum glowers at her. “What, you want me to lie to you? I’m not gonna do that.”

“Let’s go.” Nolin glances back at Olum. “We’ll be back through here.”

The dwarf sighs heavily, chains dragging him downwards. “Uh huh. I’ll be here.”

To be continued….

 

[Piratecat]

The next portal leads to an entrance area, and then a narrow tunnel with spikes lining the ceiling. Malachite has to take off his armor in order to fit in without impaling himself. It takes almost ten minutes for the group to crawl through the narrow tunnel. As they do so, they pass through a half dozen areas of dispel magic and anti-magic. “Can you imagine what would happen if the dragon got in here, polymorphed or reduced?” Agar comments. “One antimagic field, and Squish!”

Crawling next to one another, Nolin and Malachite discuss the fate of Olum Shiverstone as they scramble along. “We should free him and take him with us,” comments Nolin. “He knows the area, knows ghouls, and knows how the White Kingdom operated in the past. His knowledge may be the difference between success and failure.”

Malachite looks back over his shoulder in disapproval. “Surely you’re joking. He’s untrustworthy and undead.”

“Yes, but that doesn’t stop him from being a valuable resource.”

“I see. I’ll remind you, Nolin, that you have a history of dealing with questionable moral sources to gain information.” Malachite voice is icy; he doesn’t mention the specifics of Nolin’s disastrous attempt to train with the lich Hagiok, but the unspoken memory hangs heavily between them. “It would be a foolish mistake. We should kill him or leave him, but asking him to accompany us would be folly.”

“Just because he doesn’t meet your high moral standards doesn’t mean he’s not a decent source of information! He may mean the difference between success and failure for us. You’d risk that for nothing more than your hatred of undead?”

“Some prices are not worth paying. That’s a lesson you still haven’t learned.”

Their conversation continues as they push their way slowly forward. Finally, Glibstone pushes through another portal, and the explorers tumble forward.

The room is shaped like all the others. To the right, display cases hold the finest gems that Mrid has ever produced, as well as barrels of lesser gems and sacks of gem dust. To the left, dozens of magical items hang in special display cases, all labeled and catalogued. Light sparkles across the room like sun on a bubbling stream, reflecting rainbow shadows on the walls as it glints off of gems and jewelry.

Someone suppresses a sob of pure joy.

“Later!” says Velendo as he moves across the space towards a single stone door on the far side. “We’ll deal with it later. Let’s get to the last room first, then come back for the gems and magic.”

Malachite looks at the elderly cleric, surveying him with a critical eye. "Have you gotten it all out of your system?"

Velendo looks back at him. "Gotten what out of my system?"

Nolin smiles. "Oh, good."

Tao smiles too, but it isn't entirely good-natured. "Oh, you mean the part where you were being an idiot and you stuck your arm into a sphere of annihilation saying, ‘Oh no, I’m not enchanted at all, oh no, not one little bit, hey, where’s my arm?’ That part?”

"Ha ha. Very funny. Make fun of the old man. Can we continue, now, if you don't mind?"

"Sure." Nolin looks around nervously. “What guards this room?”

Glibstone shrugs. “I have no idea,” he says in a humble voice far different from his normal stentorious rumble. “Nothing?”

Nolin snorts. “I find that hard to believe.”

Glibstone pauses in front of the simple door. “There’s no puzzle,” he says with concern. “Only a worn place on the door.” After examining it closely, he places his hand on it – and disappears.

“Ready, everyone!” snaps Mara. Lightbinder is drawn, and the other Defenders follow suit, looking back and forth for signs of danger. Then Glibstone reappears as abruptly as he vanished, and a hidden lock on the door clunks open. Priggle and Agar advance forward as Glibstone looks about.

“Where did all of you go?” he asks in confusion. “I was in the same room, but no one was here. I saw a flowstone puzzle on the door in front of me, and answered it seconds before you all reappeared.” He smiles to himself mysteriously. “That puzzle was a total joke.”

Agar considers the door, fascinated. “Amazing magics!” he muses. “I think they’re temporal based, and keyed to the door. It might have flung him back in time – a day, maybe? – then returned him here. There are lots of adjacent dweomers, too, looking pretty nasty.” Next to him, Priggle nods dourly in agreement.

“Makes sense,” says the svirfneblin scout. “This lock looks counterweighted, taking hours between when it’s unlocked and when it opens. Probably if he hadn’t tried to open the door correctly, we’d all have been killed.” He sighs. “Not that that isn’t going to happen, anyways.”

“Well, the door is open now,” reminds Malachite. “Let’s go.” He pulls open the stone portal, revealing a swirling brown portal. .

“Here goes nothing!” says Agar optimistically, and leaps through. The dwarven troops are ordered to stay behind, but everyone else follows.

The group emerges in a dark cave filled with ancient air that smells of age and wet, damp earth. In front of them, the solid ground twists and softens and churns into a vast whirlpool of crushing rock and razor-sharp stone. The only light shines from magical items and the red flame of Nolin’s flickering, burning hair.

Out of the stone whirlpool, a woman rises.

Well, half a woman. Her lower half is spiraling stone, connecting her to the churning floor by a rising column of elemental earth in constant movement. Her upper half, however, is utterly beautiful. Flawless brown skin, eyes like gleaming gemstones, muscles like sculpted marble, teeth as white as bone, poise and grace and perfection in her every movement. She turns towards the Defenders of Daybreak, and her eyes are as old as the earth itself.

“My lady!” gasps the ever-vigilant sword Karthos, and Nolin is the first to bend his knee to her. Splinder follows his example. Most of the others do likewise. The woman looks down at them, and her heavy gaze is solemn.

“Greetings. I am Silissa, child of Ogremoch, and a singer in fate’s quarry. She flicks back her hair. “I see the endings of all things, from flesh to stone. Your own deaths dance before me, as does all death, and I see where all things finish.

“And now, in the time of the reaving, the time before the fall, you come as I have foreseen you to.” She smiles now, and it is a smile of infinite patience and grace. “You are kerngrun, pivots. Prophecy dances around you. You seek to turn the plans of Gods. For this you have come to me, unknowing, and I can tell you truth.” She pauses now, and eyes the group doubtfully.

Malachite looks up. “That is all we seek.”

“Are you sure? Truth is a sharpened blade with no hilt, so that even those who wield it are sliced by its edge.” He nods in acceptance, and she continues as she looks downwards.

“I see only endings. I see that you wish answers that only my sisters could give you, but I can offer help nevertheless. I will prophesize for you three times: once for the past, once for the present, and once for the future. Information beyond that comes only for a price.

“The past slopes away from me, and I see the weave and warp of the raw earth. The bloated one glistens in darkness. For him the herds are grown, mewling in shadow, but hunger can not be satiated by flesh alone. He seeks more… and he learns that if he strives for the light, all will come to him and he will feast and he will dance in the darkness with the stars themselves. This is worthiness! He prays to the mother never-born, and she blesses the endeavor, for she does not see with unclouded sight. The signs are clear, the oracles agree, and his minions twitch and moan as they are whipped towards your lands. Misguided? Religion often is, and this is no exception. Slowly the nation grows, worms wriggling outwards from a rotten husk, and change is set in motion.”

She tilts her perfectly sculpted head straight ahead, staring at something unthinkably far away.

“I stand upon the present, and I hear the scratching of coffins hastily closed. You have been foolish and made assumptions. There is one amongst you who can lock the door with the gemstone key, but you have failed to do so – and there is those amongst your enemies who can call back the farthest of friends from that still-open door. As could one of your own, but they need not pass through Boros’ gate, for their toll has been long since paid. Now, on the nights when you hid in your violated home, she began to call them back. One by one. They are seeking you now, all together where each they failed, and they will find you if you do not beware. You do not want them to find you. They anger that through you their greatest has burned, and vengeance is hotter than blood. Their allies are the rays of the air and the fish of the land, for these guard the entrance to Abriach. Velendo and Nolin blanch in horror as they grasp her meaning. She tilts her head upwards, voice inexorable and growing louder, echoing through the chamber.

“The future rises before me, chasms inexorable. Through your actions the world has changed; through you again it will change the more. You have tossed the pebble that started the landslide. Before it is over the undying dies and is consumed by its own icy flesh, just as the dying will fail to pass on. The ending gift will claim what the pilgrimage could not, with much the same result, and death will stalk your lands in every person you may meet. It may be burned away, but not in time for many. And for you? He may share with the parasite, or perhaps he may not, but the whole can not hold – and odd allies indeed are formed when such things occur. Greed conquers all, and the sun will dim if he finishes before you interrupt. Past and repast, future ahead – a new one may be born from the unborn, or the crawling death rekindled as it was in the days before the Gods themselves. Do not believe all that you are told, or your errors may be grave indeed.”

Silence fills the room, other than the ragged churning of the raw earth beneath her.

“You wish more?” She smiles slowly as she studies them, seeing something that they can not. “There is always a price. You have already paid my price for your prophecies, unknowing or not, but now the scales are equal. My sister is captive in the Shrine of the Glass Pool, a place I see you passing nearby. If you wish a question answered, you will free her from her enslavement. Agree to this, and I shall answer one thing more.” The group exchanges a glance, and as one silently agrees.

“I can tell you why you can not remember the infant son of King Josric. I can tell of Telay Threnodiel, and her journies beneath the earth. I can tell of the Lawbringer T’Cri. I can tell you what is meant by “breaking the spine” of the White Kingdom. I can tell you about the creature you refer to as the Puppeteer. I can tell you of the White Kingdom’s allies, or describe the mind and goals of the Ivory King. I can tell you what awaits you outside of the city of Mrid. I can tell you of the death of Gods, the fate of friends and enemies, and perhaps I can tell you why the modrons march. All is open to me, that dwells with failure and with death. You need but ask.

“And for a separate price, I can transport you to the heart of Moradin’s Forge – to seek what treasures lie protected there – or deeper into the Underdark, or back to Mridsgate itself.

“For I see endings, and I prophesize death.”

To be continued….

 

[Piratecat]

Wow, there's ... lots going on here ... or being implied here ... and I'm outta my league ...

It's possible that a couple of months from now, these are going to make a whole lot of sense! Hey, they might make a whole lot of sense right now, if you poke at them long enough. That's why I like prophecies; not only are they fun, they give clues to the people who want to think about them.

Here's an example. Nolin and Velendo think they've worked out the prophecy for the Present, and their explanation seems to fit. I'll let them explain it - but can any of you guys guess?

Piratecat, about how long does it take to work up prophecies and other omens? Do you unfold them based on much of what has happened before in a campaign as a signpost to a possible future? Do you find it hard to come up with something prophetic that still allows for the random element and unpredictable player direction common to RPGs?

When I'm motivated, prophecies don't take too long to write. There are basically two kinds of prophecies: those which directly describe PC actions, and those which describe other things happening in the world. It's much easier to write the latter kind, because the prophecy describes what is fated to happen independent of PC action. The only tricky thing is thinking carefully about where your plot is going, and couching it in terms that make tons of sense after the fact but little sense beforehand. Then you give hints as to what you expect to happen if the PCs don't get involved, and let it run from there.

For instance, these particular prophecies mostly concern people and events that aren't the PCs. Thus, I don't have to say "the daughter of light will shatter the crystal lantern, and plunge the world into darkness." What if Mara wanted to be peverse and not smash any lantern she found? Thus, your prophecies directly describing the PCs have to be pretty freakin' obscure.

I'm especially fond of prophecies uttered by completely crazy people; that way, you can include lots of stuff which may or may not be true, and steer the campaign to include thematic (but non-literal) elements from the prophecy. In general, a good prophecy should unfold gradually, answers slowly becoming clear and unlocking other parts of the puzzle.

If you need your prophecy to directly mention the PCs, use generic labels. The sword, the phoenix, the martyr. Players sometimes leave campaigns, and nothing sucks more than having a key portion of your prophecy walk out on you. Same thing if a PC dies.

Omens are easier. Omens just happen, and whether or not the players interpret them correctly is up to them. I occasionally throw in omens about stuff that has nothing to do with the PCs, because it adds so much flavor into the world. I think most of these get missed, but hey - that's what's supposed to happen. *grin*

Anyways, I detest railroading my group to meet a prophecy. It can totally backfire; ask Sialia about her game in college some time, which Sito played in too!

 

[coyote6]

Here's an example. Nolin and Velendo think they've worked out the prophecy for the Present, and their explanation seems to fit. I'll let them explain it - but can any of you guys guess?
[/B]

I think "the door" refers to the Ebon Door; one of the characters has a way to seal the door (and thus likely release Kellharin from his duty). Not sure what the "gemstone key" is, though.

Another part of that prophecy talks about some of the villains the Defenders have been slaying. The White Kingdom is un-slaying them; either resurrecting 'em then re-undead-ifying 'em, or some ghoul has wish or miracle and XP to burn, I'd guess. Or, perhaps more likely, is using some foul ritual or rite to provide XP-by-proxy to fuel the spells. (The "as could one of your own" refers to Velendo, who can cast 9th level cleric spells.) While the Defenders were resting up in Calphas' Comfortable Castle, the bad guys were assembling the Undead Legion of Doom.

The White Kingdom is hopping (maybe literally -- hopping vampires are undead, too, right? ) mad at the Defenders. Not just for their current assault, but because the Defenders tipped Aeos to the whole Ghouleax scam, which led to the sun god destroying the Kingdom's King for masterminding the Ghouleax thing.

So now the ULoD are looking for the DoD, so they can kick some living butts.

Not sure what it means by "toll long since paid" -- reference to level loss, maybe?

Hmm, the prophecy says "that still-open door", and mentions "Boros' gate" -- if all three doors mentioned are the same door, then the Ebon Door leads literally to the Underworld, to the land of the dead.

Oh. Hey. With regards to that gemstone key -- what were the properties of flowstone, again?

"Rays of the air", "fish of the land". Something that looks like a manta ray that flies, and something that is fish-like but travels on land. And that would ally with the minions of an evil subterranean undead kingdom. Cloakers and aboleths? Though the latter are aquatic. Something like that, I'd guess.

 

[Piratecat]

Velendo speaks up. “What price to transport us?”

She studies them, watching them carefully. “To transport you, I require one of the rings from the dragon’s corpse. For additional information, a second question answered, I wish a drop of blood from each of you.”

Galthia frowns. “How will the blood be used?”

“Is that your question?”

“No.”

The group quietly confers.

“What does she mean? King Josric never had any children!”
“I want to learn about Telay!”
“Don’t ask about T’Cri; the bastard is probably a big ‘ole rat-ghoul.”
Anyone care about the modrons?”
“No.”
“Yes!”
“Not now, Agar.”
“What kind of a sadist would present people with lots of answers, and only answer one?”
“I’d love to find out about the Puppeteer.”
“Learning about the White Kingdom is probably more useful.”
“Can we survive in Moradin’s Forge?”
“Better to go further into the Underdark, I think.”
“Agreed.”
“I’m not giving a drop of blood.”
“Me either.”
“Then only one question gets answered. Which one?”
“Oh, Telay… damn it.”
“Who is the Ivory King? I know that name from somewhere.”
“You’re hallucinating.”
“No you’re not. I remember it too.”
“Probably the King of the Ghouls. The Ivory Queen is Imbindarla, we know that.”
“Too many choices!”
“So, how to break the Spine of the White Kingdom?”
“Yes, I think we have to.”
“Yes.”
“Yes.”
“Yes.”

The group rises from its huddle and turns back to Silissa, faces set. Nolin steps forward. “We are agreed, Silissa, daughter of Ogremoch. We wish to know how to break the spine of the White Kingdom.”

The earth around them shudders slightly, as if letting out a held breath.

“Indeed. The White Kingdom is ruled by the unborn son of the Goddess Imbindarla, She who was once to be Goddess of Night, but failed. He is called Gl’Yuut, and was carved unborn from her earthly womb by members of the Brotherhood of Night. He rules the Kingdom of the Ghouls, and the children he has created spread forth throughout the sunless caverns to slay and devour and conquer all they find. If he is destroyed along with his closest cadre, and the entrance to the cyst sealed, the spark that drives the ghouls shall fade as well. They worship he and his mother, although only one of them is worthy of worship. The two share no loyalty; slay one, and they shall fall and be devoured, with all that might entail.”

She turns to the githzerai monk, studying him. He looks up steadfastly, perhaps surprised by the scrutiny but giving no sign of discomfort.

“Galthia. I have been charged with conveying to you a gift, and thus satisfying an ancient debt. I foresee a time when you will die if you do not have this token, so I give the token to you now.” Silissa raises her slim brown hand to her face, and with strong fingers gouges out her left eyeball. She bends over and offers it to Galthia, who takes it without comment. It is warm in his hand, but within seconds hardens to green rock. Silissa watches him, her black eye socket weeping fluid. “Swallow it; it will become as part of you, and will serve you when no power solely of flesh will serve.” Galthia does so, and feels a momentary tingling throughout his body.

“And so are debts satisfied.”

Velendo wipes the disgusted look off of his face and clears his throat. “My Lady, must we take advantage of your offer to send us further from this place right now? We have things which we need to gather from back inside the vault.” Silissa looks at him with her one brilliant eye. “Gems, magical items, and weapons; things which we shall need.”

Mara speaks up. “Tao’s lizard mount Newt, too. And my warhorse Luminor. We left them in the first vault room. They’ve been waiting for us.” Silissa inclines her head to gaze into the distance amd shrugs her perfect shoulders.

“Not for long.” Her tone is matter-of-fact, her face inscrutable.

Mara looks up, horrified. “Not for.. what? What do you mean?” Silissa merely gazes at her.

To be continued…