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

[Piratecat]

In the dark, Mara cautiously moves forward into the room. As she does so, something huge smashes her back against the wall. She feels acid soaking her front and peeling off her skin, and the pain is intense. She grits her teeth and continues forward, swinging blindly into the darkness. As far as she can tell, she doesn’t connect with anything. Next to her, Tao squints blindly into the darkness, trying to use her other senses.

On the other side of the hall, Malachite rounds the corner with several people behind him, all bunched up as they try to stay in range of the sunlight produced by Malachite’s holy sword. Agar pokes his head around the corner as well, and blinks in surprise. “Oh my… be careful, everyone! I still have arcane sight up, and there are….” He hastily counts magical auras coming from the dark room in front of him, “almost THIRTY spells active on whatever is in there! Something has been really heavily enchanted for a fight!”

“Noted,” growls Malachite, and he swings Karthos over his head as they advance into the large room. Sunlight streams out from the sword and is immediately swallowed by the pervasive darkness. They cancel each other out, though, and the torches on the wall suddenly flutter back into life.

In the flickering torchlight, the group sees something horrible. Galthia hangs suspended in mid-air, turning and struggling as his skin is eaten away by powerful acid. The thing holding him is invisible, but Galthia seems unable to break free from its overpowering grasp. He’s completely silent. Beneath him, drops of smoking acid fall like rain onto the stone floor.

Malachite steps forward one more pace and swings, taking his best guess at where the invisible monster is. His sword misses. Splinder is luckier, his axe chopping into the unseen assailant and passing through cleanly. The blade begins to pit even as he watches, and Splinder mutters an oath in dwarvish. “Acid!” he explains. “Watch yer weapons! One more hit ‘n this’ll be gone!”

Velendo silently calculates how much trouble they’re in, and with a frown pulls out the wand that he hurriedly grabbed on his way out of his room. “Not many more of these,” he complains to no one in particular, and levels the wand at the invisible monster as he triggers one of the few remaining charges. A maximized dispel magic emerges from it.

The effect on the creature is remarkable. Enchantments peel away from it like wet tissue, one spell after another sparking and crackling as it is dispelled. There is a horrible burbling, slurping, wet noise as the silence and fly spells fail, and the massive creature drops four feet to the ground with Galthia still firmly encased inside of it. The air is filled with a horrible hissing noise that sounds like an alchemical experiment gone awry.

The creature is hideous… and gargantuan. Fully 35 ft. long and 20 ft. wide, the pulsing ooze smells of brimstone and acid, and it glows the blackish red color of cooling coals. Unseen skeletal hands and faces push out from the inside, pressing against the bulging surface as if trying to reach fresh meat, and dozens of humanoid mouths open and close along its surface. The monk is literally encased inside of the creature, being eaten alive by the hungry mouths.

“Oh my God,” someone says.

“How did that get in here?” shouts Velendo.

“Who cares!” yells Tao from the other side of the room. “Just kill it!” She catches something out of the corner of her eye; a second monster, some sort of skeletal soldier, stands unmovingly next to the only door to the outside. She groans to herself, shouts a warning to the group, and focuses her attention on the ooze-like thing in front of her.

Something interesting is happening where Splinder slashed it, however. A throbbing sore has traveled across the creature’s body, a wound that looks like a thickened scab. With a wet sucking sound, the monster separates into two huge monsters, each easily 20 ft. square.

Galthia decides to take advantage of the situation. The split down the monster’s middle occurs right over the place where his struggling body is trapped, and the monk desperately wrenches himself up and out of the acidic ooze. Teeth and claws do their best to hold him back, but he manages to pull free, tumbling away and staggering to his feet.

“That’s better,” Galthia manages to gasp. He focuses his mind and pounds his fists against his own body, healing his wounds by force of will alone. Then he takes one more step, and the hideous creature surges hungrily after him. A vast pseudopod slams down against the back of Galthia’s head. He tries to escape, but the pulsing monster is too strong, and once again he’s sucked back into its midst. A large piece of his loose clothing is sheared off by the acid, and lies disintegrating on the pitted stone floor where his feet stood just seconds before.

Across the room, the other portion of the monster that isn’t busy digesting Galthia bulges forward to engulf Mara. The paladin crouches behind her magical shield as the acidic pseudopod slams into her, and she barely manages to avoid being drawn into its bulk. Behind her, Tao quickly reaches out with a healing prayer, reducing some of the brutal acid damage that Mara has suffered.

As the pseudopod is reabsorbed into the monster, Mara moves forward to attack its bulk. “Think blunt weapons will split it?” she calls out urgently, but no one has a good answer for her. She doesn’t have a chance to find out. As she advances, a second tentacle bursts out, and Mara is knocked backwards before being involuntarily engulfed. Tao watches helplessly as Mara disappears into the monster, her recently healed wounds reopening under the flow of fresh acid.

To be continued…

 

[Piratecat]

Mara can hear Luminor screaming inside of her head, but the sound of the horse hammering at the stone door is muffled by the acidic ooze that surrounds her head. I’m okay, Luminor! she reassures her mount, but the pain that surges through her body belies the calm statement. Mara can feel teeth gnawing at her dissolving flesh, and realizes that she’s simply not strong enough to break free. She can also feel the acid dissolving her prim cotton nightdress. Well, that’s going to be interesting, she thinks with a wave of shyness, but she has more pressing worries.

Across the room, the Defenders attack en masse. Splinder changes weapons, takes a defensive stance, and slashes with an old weapon. His old axe dissolves completely, and the large portion of the monster shudders as it begins to split a second time. Malachite swings Karthos, and the sword emerges screaming in pain from the acid. Magic missiles from Agar pummel the writhing ooze, and a searing light from Velendo burns into its interior. Standing at the doorway, Nolin holds his blast harp up to his lips, and sends a crushing wave of ultrasonic energy into the quivering monster. It doesn’t drop Galthia, but huge rents are being blasted in its undulating surface.

Splinder quickly realizes that this is no place for his dwarven troops. “Get back, all of you!” he commands, and the dwarves who were waiting to enter and attack instead back away to give the more experienced heroes room to maneuver.

Galthia feels his magical staff of disruption disintegrate from between his fingers, just as the last of his clothing rots away from the acid. His fingers pierce the surface of the creature, and he wrenches open a gap large enough to pull himself out of. He twists his burned body out of the narrow opening, and tumbles away from the splitting creature. Naked and acid-seared, Galthia finishes his escape across the room next to Nolin.

Unable to reach the half-dissolved and still juicy githzerai, the battered portion of the ooze surges forward and attacks Malachite instead. Meanwhile, the second portion of the monster works busily on digesting Mara, even as the third portion does its best to engulf Tao. She grips the doorway with her gauntlet of adamant grasp instead, and the tentacle recedes back into the monster without taking her with it. Tao’s eyes narrow, and she casts plane shift as she slaps her open palm down on the ooze that has Mara trapped. “Let’s let someone on the Beastlands deal with you,” she says, and the monster shimmers and vanishes across the planes. Naked except for her shield, Mara drops to the floor, her skin sizzling. Tao shakes the acid from her open hand.

“Wow!” admires Agar. Whether he’s referring to the plane shift or the naked paladin is unclear. Mara quickly repositions her shield in front of her and staggers to her feet. “Nice ass,” comments Tao, and Mara flashes her a dirty look. Behind her shield, the paladin discreetly lays on hands to heal her own wounds.

“Don’t you think Galanna is going to object to you sending a horrible acidic monster to her home plane?” Velendo asks concernedly from across the room, shouting over the sounds of combat. Tao look slightly embarrassed as she replies.

“Err… I didn’t have any other choice. I’m sure she’ll let me know if it’s a problem.” Her green eyes glance around, as if expecting Galanna to object immediately, but the well-known celestial voice stays quiet.

Three pieces of ooze remain. Instead of attacking, Malachite holds up Karthos. “Can you lay hilt on yourself?” he asks. The sword answers by flashing with sunlight, and before Malachite’s eyes the acid-worn holes in the blade refill with new metal. “Nice,” comments Malachite, and he turns back to the oozes just as spells from Agar, Velendo and Nolin go off almost simultaneously. One of the oozes quivers and deliquesces in burning slime, and the other two shudder from the damage. Ghoulish faces thrust up from the creatures’ backs, howling in pain from multiple mouths, and the Defenders grimace.

It quickly becomes apparent that the smaller the pieces of the creature, the more difficulty it has engulfing people. As a result, the sections are chopped up into smaller bits that are attacked by the Defenders’ few remaining area effect spells. The monster seems to have a natural resistance to spells and fire, but within half a minute the creature is completely destroyed. So is Galthia’s staff, however, and Mara’s holy mace is badly damaged. Malachite’s sword Karthos would be destroyed as well if Mara hadn’t stepped in and healed it, her holy power repairing its acid damage.

Still clad in bed clothes – for those who weren’t engulfed, at least – the group turns to the umber hulk-like bone creature that stands unmovingly before the exit door. “It isn’t undead,” confirms Malachite. “I don’t know what it is.”

“Construct, maybe,” says Velendo. As they approach it warily, a mouth opens up on its skull-like face. “This didn’t have to happen,” begins Kellharin’s wheedling voice from the magic mouth.

“I’ve heard enough,” says Velendo flatly, interrupting the voice. He casts one of his few remaining Wall spells to hedge the construct into a narrow area. Flying up to the narrow gap at the top of the wall, he casts blade barrier down into the tight space. Metal shards and bone chips fly everywhere, bouncing off of the wall of force. Within a handful of seconds, the magical blades whir above nothing more than a low pile of shattered bone and scrap metal.

“That bastard.” Velendo looks around the acid-scarred sanctuary, taking in his battered and angry friends with his gaze. “One thing is for sure,” he begins wearily. He gets cut off as the rest of the Defenders finish his sentence for him.

“We’re going to have to do something about Kellharin.”

To be continued….

 

[Piratecat]

The faint smell of acid and brimstone still hangs in the air. Sitting in the comfortable library at 3:30 am, the Defenders snack on what few pieces of food survived the acid-bath while they debate their best plan for survival and victory. With them is Raevynn, Kiri and Shara, all of whom prismed in during the aftermath of the battle; they were confused until Agar explained that they had probably slipped into the null-time plane earlier that day. Nolin explains to the three of them what just occurred, and they join in the discussion.

“My best guess,” Agar is saying as he sucks reflectively on his lit pipe, “is that Kellharin used a gate spell to pierce the planar boundaries of the Calphas’ Comfortable Castle. He must have scried someone here in the Castle, noted where they were, and then ripped a hole into it from the Prime. It wasn’t me; my detect scrying would have told me.” He looks around questioningly, and Tao looks disgusted.

“It was probably me,” she says in a tired voice. “The thing appeared in my chapel. He must have watched me while I was praying.” Everyone looks at her with sympathy.

“So what are we going to do?” Velendo asks. “That thing was horrible! If he can send something like that in here whenever he wants, we’re in a lot of trouble.”

“Indeed we are!” exclaims Karthos the sword in a metallic voice. “I myself was injured near unto death. If it were not for Sir Malachite's skill at arms and Commander Mara’s miraculous healing touch, I would be nothing more than scrap metal right now.” It’s hard to tell, but it looks like the sword is gazing adoringly at the now-clothed paladin. Malachite sighs, perfunctorily agrees with the sword, and quickly sheathes it. Mara looks unruffled.

“That reminds me,” she says over the muffled sound of the still-talking sword. “My mace Lightbinder is badly damaged. I’ll need to try and get it fixed somehow.”

“Well,” snorts Splinder, “it’s not like we have any shortage of dwarves, and there’s got to be a good weaponsmith in Mridsgate. I’ve even got a decent one in my own ranks. I’ll check tomorrow.” Mara nods her thanks with a wide smile.

“How often do you suppose he can do that?” Malachite asks.

“Kellharin? I dunno,” answers Agar. “Depends on how powerful he is, really. Only once, I hope.” The group talks for a few more minutes about possible strategies for protecting the sanctuary, but doesn’t settle on anything in particular.

“The question is,” asks Raevynn, “should we take the fight to him? I don’t know how long it will be before I slip back into another plane, but I’d like to get him if we can.” She shoots Agar a dirty look, and he pretends to ignore it.

Kiri agrees. “With Shara and I here, we have a lot more arcane firepower than we usually do. The two of us can always return to Eversink later tomorrow. For now, lets find a way to teleport in and take him out.”

Shara looks at her questioningly. “I was under the impression that it was impossible to teleport deep underground.”

“That’s true,” agrees Velendo, “but we’re not so sure he is deep underground. We’ve scryed him once; he’s actually a dwarf, and he appeared to be asleep or projecting when we saw him. Let’s take a look at all of our auguries, legend lores and divinations concerning him.”

The group lays the transcripts out on the table.

• The White Kingdom knows of the path, but the rotting dwarf is stalled by his own Kingdom’s defense.
  - Nolin’s legend lore on traveling through the abandoned dwarven city of Tuz’Zud.
  
  Kellharin guards the ebon door, his evil stopped from doing more
  Cursed to stay beyond the day the dwarves were forced to go their way.
  - Agar’s vision of the name Kellharin

As the group begins to tiredly look at the prophecies, Karthos begins to talk urgently from within Malachite’s sheath. “This better be good,” Malachite says as he half-draws the blade.

“There is undead nearby!” exclaims Karthos with worry in his voice. “I can detect them!”

“Knock knock?” says a familiar voice as an undead dwarf leans around the corner of the door. It holds out a bottle of blood-red wine in one hand and a bouquet of bone-white flowers in the other. “I brought a peace offering!”

To be continued….

 

[Piratecat]

The Defenders all jump to their feet, drawing weapons as they do so. Kellharin waves a calloused hand dismissively, and a few carrion flies launch themselves into the air at his abrupt motion. “Sit down, sit down. No need to get up on my account.”

Velendo sighs heavily as he leans forward on the table. “Kellharin, what do you want? We’re all really tired, and we don’t have much patience for games.”

The undead dwarf smiles ingratiatingly as he puts the old bottle of wine and the flowers down on the edge of the table. It’s now apparent that the bone white flowers have tiny splotches of crimson on them, like splatters of dried blood. “Understood. I just wanted to thank you. I took a big risk earlier this evening when I asked my favorite pet to drive home my point. Instead of killing him, you were kind enough to plane shift a section of him away. That was really thoughtful of you.” He beams at the group. “He’s already home safe. So, I’m appreciative.” He indicates the proffered wine and flowers, his smile stretching even wider.

In answer, Malachite sweeps his arm across the table. The wine bottle shatters when it hits the floor, splashing blood red fluid across the tumbled flowers. The Hunter of the Dead glares at the dwarf, sword half drawn. “Anything else?” he asks icily.

Kellharin looks at this display of bad manners with unfeigned disappointment. He gazes up at the human looming above him. “You know, I’ve been dead for some time,” he says reprovingly, “but I’m fairly sure that’s not how you treat guests. That was drow wine, you know, hundreds of years old!” One of the carrion flies settles back on his cheek. He doesn’t seem to notice.

“You’re not a guest.”

Kellharin clears his throat noisily, patchy beard bobbing. “I suppose not. It’s a shame; there is seldom opportunity for polite conversation in our kingdom. Too much to do. I also wanted to point out that your group is entirely vulnerable to us. Do you really want to….”

Malachite interrupts, speaking over his shoulder to Velendo. “Is there any reason to wait?” Karthos leaps to the paladin’s hand.

“…spend months of your precious life sleeping poorly and looking over your shoulder, wondering when we’ll launch an attack? Really, I don’t think it’s too late for us to find a com….”

“No,” answers Velendo with a shake of his head.

“…promise, an interim solution.” Kellharin looks hopeful.

Long sword flashing, Malachite slashes him down in a single blow.

The dwarf’s clotted bodily fluids join the flowers and the wine bottle in a grotesque puddle on the carpeted floor. Well, half of the wine bottle, anyways. Malachite looks up, and sees Splinder at the end of the table, swigging down the unbroken half as he watches the confrontation.

“What are you doing?” asks Velendo, aggrieved. “It could be poisoned!”

“Nah,” answers Splinder. “Good stuff. A little fruity for my personal taste, though.”

The group sits in silence for a minute, and then Nolin pushes himself back to his feet. “We’ve really got to do something about him. But for now, I’m going to bed. If there are any more emergencies, don’t bother waking me up.” He stomps down the hall. One by one, the others follow him.

To be continued….

 

[Piratecat]

By noon the next day, the Defenders have gotten some sleep and prepared their spells. Nothing else tried to break into their Calphas’ Comfortable Castle, and Velendo starts the day by casting a divination about their chances for success if they scry Kellharin and teleport in to kill him.

What he receives is this:

• Does the wall tumble down when the mason falls from grace?
  Can a tyrant build a gate that shields his peasants from attack?
  Can a demon hate a devil, while a deva hates a fiend?
  Do the colors of the standard ever change and change again?

“What in the world does that mean?” complains Malachite grumpily over a cold brunch of salt pork and hard biscuits, a big change from the gourmet food that was destroyed the night before. “Whatever happened to a nice simple weal or woe?”

Velendo looks lost in thought as he stares at the paper. “Calphas’ wisdom is perfect,” he says slowly, “but my interpretation of it leaves a little bit to be desired. This is how my mind understood the divine message. Let’s see if we can figure it out.”

Taking it literally, they decide that:

• No. Normal walls don’t usually fall just because the mason has become corrupted.
• Yes. It’s certainly possible for a tyrant to care for and shield people weaker than himself.
• Yes. Demons do hate devils, and devas hate fiends. (They don’t discuss the concept that devas may not bother to distinguish between devils and demons in their hatred.)
• Yes. The colors of a standard (a flag) can certainly change, especially when it’s captured or someone has raised a false flag to fool the enemy.

“But will fighting him bring weal or woe? And what does it mean?” asks Agar.

Velendo scratches his chin. “It looks like most of the answers are ‘yes’, which suggests we should go ahead. But I can’t help but think I’m missing something. Tao, when is the next time you can talk to Galanna?”

“A few more days, unless we have a whole lot of things to ask. I only get an audience with her twice a year.”

They discuss what else they know of Kellharin. As far as the group knows, he’s an armor-wearing undead dwarf who doesn't look like a true ghoul. He’s either a powerful wizard or a cleric, and the armor suggests a cleric; either way, he's deeply religious. He can send his consciousness into other undead. He’s not located deep in the underdark; instead, he’s apparently trapped in the abandoned Dwarven city of Tuz’zud nearer to the surface. They know that a commune indicated that going through Tuz’zud was the most efficient path to reach the heart of the White Kingdom. Nolin has heard ancient dwarvish chants about the fact that Tuz’zud was abandoned, but not one of the epic chants ever said why. He has also heard that the city was built as a defense, and held dwarven warriors that could hold back darkness.

That makes Nolin think of something. “You know, we have our very own dwarven loremaster, don’t we?” he asks. “Let’s go ask him about this ebon door. Also, Mara needs to drop her mace off with the dwarven weaponsmith to get it fixed.”

While the weaponsmith is alternately oohing over the mace’s quality and clucking his tongue at the acid damage, Nolin tracks down Glibstone. The jester is sitting glumly on a set of steps, chin settled firmly on his fists. He turns his head at Nolin’s approach, bells jingling, and after the customary joke or two Nolin explains that he wants information on what happened to Tuz’zud. Glibstone’s face closes tight, his eyes wary.

“No. Tuz’zud is thuruk… that is to say, taboo. We do not discuss it. It is dead to us.” He crosses his arms in front of his chest in stubborn defiance. The jingling of his bells somewhat spoils the effect.

Nolin looks at him in confusion. “What do you mean, taboo? Why is it taboo? We need to know.”

“That information is thuruk as well.”

“What are you talking about, man? You’re a loremaster! No information should be taboo!” Glibstone looks at the half-elf in fury.

“I would not expect you to understand. There is certain information which is best left forgotten. There is certain information which leads dwarves into corruption or temptation, while there would be no threat if they had never been tempted. It is the Loremaster’s duty to guard the knowledge that must not be passed down, just as it is his duty to pass down the information that should be known.”

“Oh, for crying out loud.” Nolin rolls his eyes. “Don’t you have the slightest bit of curiosity about forbidden knowledge?”

Glibstone is quite certain of his answer. “No.”

“Well, is there any information about Tuz’zud which you can tell us?”

The dwarf considers. “It was once a large city, more than 200 years ago,” he ventures. “They suffered a small plague that killed some 30% of the population. Within a hundred years of that time, the remaining inhabitants left Tuz’zud and went elsewhere. That is all.”

“Well, thanks,” Nolin says dubiously. “They didn’t delve too deep and awaken something, did they?”

“What?” asks Glibstone, confused. “Of course not.”

“Oh, good. That’s a nice change,” says Nolin as he gets up to leave.

“You must not go there!” warns Glibstone. “It is far from here, and it is forbidden.”

“Thanks,” Nolin repeats, and walks back to the courtyard.

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

By the time Nolin gets back, Agar has Kellharin's image reflected in his scrying mirror and is duplicating the image with a minor illusion. "He doesn't seem to have noticed me," Agar announces. "Either he's clever, sloppy or overconfident. I've cast detect magic through the mirror; his armor and shield and weapon are extremely magical, and he has some other magic items, but I don't think I'm looking at a screen or false vision."

Kellharin in person is a stocky dwarf clad in heavy armor and wielding a massive double-headed warhammer. Agar watches him walk slowly along the edge of a great pillared hall. The dwarven knight stands before empty wall niches that might have once held statues, pausing at each before continuing on. Through the mirror, Agar can see a heavy track worn in the floor. Kellharin has clearly done this before.

“Teleports ready?” Velendo asks. Kiri, Tao and Agar all nod. “Defensive spells all cast?” Everyone nods again. “Nolin?”

The bard casts mass haste, three people cast teleport, and the eleven heroes vanish. Behind them, the scrying mirror continues to show the scene for just a few seconds more, and then it too peters out. The lamp-lit room goes completely silent.

To be continued….

 

[Jobu]

I'm going to go out on a limb here and guess that whatever drove out the dwarves of Tuz'Zud is linked to Kellharin guarding the Ebon Door.

The comment about "his own Kingdom's defense" refers to the defense of the White Kingdom, which will fail if he is no longer around to guard the Ebon Door. Whatever is behind that door isn't good for the White Kingdom, but will be even worse -- possibly fatal -- for the Defenders.

Ok, picture this. It's a beautiful summer night, there are eleven of us sitting around a table on the back porch, and we get these cryptic messages to figure out. This was role-playing at it's best. Having Al, Morrus, Kiri, Shara, Raevyn all here just made the evening even better. We were all gung-ho, chargeing in swords slashing and spells flying..... but remember who was DMing.
Just wait for the next post.

PS: Being a friend, relative, and loved one of PirateKitty I vote a big ole NO for the idea of breaking our fingers. But I can keep pestering him to update the storyhour more often.

 

[Sialia]

I added another goody to the Defenders Puzzle & Coloring Book thread.

 

[Eisenkrote]

Second-Guessing

Shamelessly heisted from Carnifex
Piratecat finally gets his revenge for ignored adventure hooks from ages past

My vote is for Grumsted Nightforger, reconstituted, renamed, and reassigned. After all, this Kelharin claims he can't die, and how many times was Grumsted killed the first time around before he took the hint and lay still?

One of the beautiful things about long campaigns is that, the longer they go on, the more loose ends accumulate, making encounters also an exercise in nostalgia. This becomes even easier for the DM if he has an online record of the campaign history to refer to...

I've one question for the players: did PirateCat use a different voice to portray Kelharin during this encounter?

 

[KidCthulhu]

Re: Second-Guessing

I've one question for the players: did PirateCat use a different voice to portray Kelharin during this encounter?

Oh, of course he did. PC is all about the silly voices. And we put it together pretty quickly once the initial battle fervor wore off.

Or at least those not fleeing like big ole chickens did. The person I feel sorry for is Kiri's player, Wisdom Like Silence, who came all the way from California, and spent the combat either mired in rock or running like a girl.

 

[WisdomLikeSilence]

Or at least those not fleeing like big ole chickens did. The person I feel sorry for is Kiri's player, Wisdom Like Silence, who came all the way from California, and spent the combat either mired in rock or running like a girl.

Sure. But it's not bad for Kiri to occasionally be reminded that there *are* worse things than spending hours listening to the Master of Protocol discussing the proper form of address for a Baron's cousin's sister-in-law....

(and you know I'm glad to see you guys no matter what we do)