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

[Sagiro]

Re: Re: You go, Valendo!

Of course, with my view of alignment that evil=cruelty and good=benevolence, taunting a creature in torment, no matter how evil or deserving the creature, is a cruelk and thus vaguely evil act.

I've alwasy seen good as a very demanding alignment. You fight evil, but you mustn't revel in your enemies pain, becasue therin lies the path to corruption.

A creature like a marlith is irredeemably evil and thus must be destroyed. But it should be done quickly and mercifully.

In my campaign, Valendo would find a few extra detect evil spells in his roster tomorrow, as a subtle hint from his deity [sort of a "Yes, yes, my child that was very funny and even I found it quite amusing myself, but it was also CRUEL and WRONG and you should be careful, lest tiny evils lead to greater ones"...

As I said, I see good as a very demanding alignment.

Having said that, it was a truly brilliant line...

I think there are different flavors of "good," and the one you describe -- the be-merciful-to-evildoers kind of good, isn't the kind that Velendo is.

He has a pretty straightforward view of the moral world. There are good people in the world who don't cause harm to others, and they are worthy of protection. Indeed, it's a holy duty to protect them. And there are people who have made the personal choice to be evil, who will cause harm to others to further their own causes, and they are not worthy of protection. Or any other benevolent considerations. You make your bed, you sleep in it.

Velendo doesn't try to redeem people. He's in the protect-the-innocent business, pure and simple, and is willing to pursue pretty much whatever means are necessary to do that. And he has no patience for Evil. He'll taunt them. He'll smite them. He'll lie to them. He'll lean on them, even to the point of causing physical discomfort, if it's necessary to protect large numbers of innocent people. He's not in the mercy business as far as Evil creatures are concerned -- there are LG clerics and religions for that sort of thing.

So, does that make him Evil himself? It seems Calphas doesn't think so. How he protects people isn't as important as the fact that he does. That's why he's neither lawful nor chaotic. And if an evil demoness is trying to wriggle and lie her way out of her fate, it will not occur to Velendo to show kindness. Harsh as it sounds, he's not in the kindness business, either.

-Sagiro

 

[Quartermoon]

It's the "We've got your bra!" bit that had me laughing out loud.

 

[Piratecat]

It's the "We've got your bra!" bit that had me laughing out loud.

Nolin sort of popped up from behind Malachite's shoulder and waved it over his head. If the look on my face was anything like the look on her face, she was really, really irked.

 

[Piratecat]

Mara, by Littlejohn. Ohhhh, yes.

 

[Plane Sailing]

and Plane Sailing played Priggle the svirfneblin scout.

So, do you know how bad life is as a svirfneblin scout? It's rotten, that's what it is. Nobody likes you, nobody trusts you, everybody is out to get you. Even your allies overlook and discount you. Still, we're all doomed anyway, I suppose. Just staving off the inevitable.

And me? I don't even fit in among my own people. Too rampantly optimistic and positive.

Just my luck. What an assignment.

- Priggle

 

[Piratecat]

We miss you already.

 

[Piratecat]

After splitting up treasure and having a final meal with the remaining dwarves of Mridsgate, the Defenders set off for Mrid. With them goes Glibstone the dwarven jester, albeit reluctantly. Malachite soon tires of the dwarf’s traditional jokes, and Glibstone finds a more receptive audience amongst Splinder and his dwarven troops. It makes the week-long trek through the caves tolerable for all.

The travel is slow and cautious. Detrius from the ghouls’ advance still litters the dwarven road. The company picks their way along over ledges and hastily repaired bridges, passing cast away bones and unidentifiable gobbets of flesh that have already been savaged by underdark scavengers. Judging from the sheer quantity of discarded bones, the number of prisoners taken at the battle of Mrid must have been substantial. The dwarves get angrier and angrier as they travel.

The group is ever-alert for any signs of active undead, but there are none. “I don’t like this,” grumbles Velendo. “Where are they?” No one knows. They expect problems going through an area known as The Ripples, a place where the stone is frozen into what looks like waves on a beach. No undead await them there, any any large predators in the area have apparently been hunted down and eaten by the ghouls.

When the group nears the svirfneblin sanctuary of Mosssong, a gem mining community buried deep within narrow winding passages, the core group of the Defenders separates from the rest of the troops. Under a wind walk spell, they follow Priggle through winding and trackless tunnels towards the deep gnomes. They hope to find the gnomes alive. Instead, they find corridors sealed with magically conjured stone. The group tries five or six different ways to get in, but all are blocked, so they resort to a sending with Priggle’s Uncle. “Priggle here. All ways into Mosssong are blocked. Is everyone okay? Did the ghouls attack you? Do you need anything? Respond briefly.” In reply, Velendo hears, “Priggle! Glad you escaped. We have sealed the entrances and are continuing our work, undisturbed. All is well; no ghoul attack. Your aunt says hi.” Slightly dubious – “He didn’t sound undead,” comments Velendo – but reassured, the Defenders rejoin their group and continues towards Mrid.

On the fourth day, Agar’s prying eyes spell detects something disturbing while scouting ahead. In a wide chasm, a bridge originally destroyed by fleeing dwarves has been restored by the ghouls. The new bridge is narrow, poorly balanced, and made from fused skeletons that are still animate. Merged hand and arm, the bridge spans the gap, jawbones clicking as they wait for their ghoulish masters to return. On the far side of the span, the prying eyes picks up some sort of waiting humanoid shape or shapes. The Defenders pause just out of sight from the chasm.

“We’d best be careful,” says Malachite. “This is probably a trap by the Puppeteer.”

“I hate that guy,” says Nolin idly. “I wish he’d show himself for real.”

Malachite looks at him. “Indeed. In any event, I suggest we come up with a plan.”

Using invisibility to undead spells, a portion of the group flies across the chasm to the far side. There they find waiting three young, female dwarves. The dwarven children sit drooling, clearly dead and reanimated as zombies. In their arms are bunches of wilting flowers from some underground plant. The group never finds out why they are there, or listens to their message; instead, using a combination of travel spells and invisibility to undead, they travel past the waiting undead children without ever being seen.

The next day, they approach Beholder Rock, a large landmark that looks remarkably like an immense beholder. It has clearly been carved in days long past to resemble one even more. Once again, the group expects an ambush, and once again the crossroads are deserted. While they are standing there, though, a powerful earthquake ripples around them, and most of the group is thrown from their feet. "Natural," remarks Priggle, examining the ceiling for structural instability. "I think."

A day after that, they pass through two deserted gatehouses and finally approach the gates of Mrid. No undead are anywhere to be seen. As Tao examines the battleground outside of the city, she looks up with a worried look. “It hasn’t just been looted, this area has been cleaned! With brooms, and soap, and clean cantrips. There is some dust from that earthquake, but that's it.”

“Why would they do that?” asks Mara, mystified.

"I don't know, but this area is almost spotless. You could eat off of it."

Priggle grimaces. "They did."

Velendo sniffs. “That's just strange. Say... does anyone else smell… rose petals?”

To be continued….

 

[Piratecat]

A rough map of the Upper Reaches

This map is a side view, with no indication of horizontal windings; it only shows relative vertical distance. It is not to scale.

The group started out on the surface near Candle Ridge. With Priggle Gembreath as their guide, they headed down into the tunnels at the base of the Shield Rock.

The first fight, against the ghoulish destrachans and the tentacle wraiths, occurred in the large round cavern near the top right of the map. This is also where they met "Kellharin" for the first time.

They descended down through the narrows, arriving at the dwarven guardhouse Mridsgate just as a massive battle was occurring.

Since then, they have passed the Ripples and Mosssong and Beholder Rock, and are just now arriving outside of Mrid.

Useful?

 

[Piratecat]

Tao sniffs the air, wriggling her nose. “Yes. Definitely rose petals.” The frown on her face grows more pronounced. “Would someone like to tell me why those damn ghouls have scented the air with rose petals?”

“To distract us?” asks Galthia. He looks around. “Or perhaps, like the bottle of wine and flowers last week, he seeks to make peace with us.”

“Maybe,” mutters Velendo. “I don’t like it one bit. I mean, clean cantrips, for Calphas’ sake! Why bother?” A horrified look passes over his face. “Maybe he promised someone that he’d deliver this place to them nice and clean.”

Priggle speaks up from the shadows, his voice dour. “I doubt it. Mrid is in the middle of a crossroads. Why would the ghouls want to give it up once they got it? No, I’m sure it’s some plot against the gnomes.” Velendo looks at him nonplussed.

“Priggle, Glibstone, how many ways out of this city are there?”

Priggle sounds depressed as he answers. “A lot, if these earthquakes haven’t sealed them. At least four or five main underdark passages are cut off by this city. We came by one of them. One other passage heads surfaceward towards Sho’kel Gruumsh, an orcish and giantish city.” He sighs. “I hate them. Everyone hates them. I hope the ghouls headed that way.”

“I don’t,” grumbles Glibstone. “Ghoulish giants?” Tao perks up at the thought.

“In any case,” continues Priggle, “another passage leads toward Titan Hall and my own svirfneblin city. That was seized months ago. A branch of that passage leads to a Derro settlement that may have been overrun, I don’t know.” He spits on the cavern floor. “Dammed albino half-breed demon-worshipping dwarves.” He looks even more morose than normal. “The last major passage leads down, towards the drow city of Eleskiel and The Shuttered Gate. I think a side passage eventually leads to a small underground sea named the Lake of Song, but I’ve never been there.”

“There are smaller ways,” confirms Glibstone the dwarf, “but those are the major gates.”

“Okay,” concludes Tao. “Let’s search the city and find out where all of those ghouls went. We know that most of the force didn’t come up our way. It’ll be good to know where they DID go.”

“Fair enough.” Velendo rubs his forehead. “I’m going to do a divination first, to see if we’re walking into an obvious trap.” He casts the spell, asking Calphas whether there are refugees left in Mrid. He hears back, “Remember that there are no ghouls and no dwarves left in the city, and you will do well.” He thanks his God profusely with prayer, and the group prepares to continue.

Walking nervously past the unlocked gates, the heroes enter a long sloping corridor. With his arcane sight active, Agar notices a line of hidden murder holes along the corridor. There is no sound, though, and the paladins detect no evil or undead. Dust shaken loose by the recent earth tremors is stirred up by their feet, but otherwise the corridor is scrupulously clean.

“What’s that rhythmic thumping sound?” asks Nolin. “And the roaring?”

“You’ll find out in a moment,” answers Glibstone mysteriously. At the end of the hall, two massive stone portals stand closed. Glibstone pushes on a shiny section of the stone, and the perfectly balanced and counter-weighted doors swing open smoothly.

“Mrid,” announces Glibstone with a small jingle of bells.

Before the Defenders of Daybreak rises an immense oval cavern roughly a thousand feet across. On more than five lofty levels, intricately carved balconies and roads ring the edge of the cavern. Nearby, a marketplace stands, completely abandoned. There is no obvious sign of recent combat, and no corpses are visible. The only debris is occasional piles of fallen rock knocked loose by the recent earthquake. It is massive, grand, beautiful, and eerily deserted; a space designed for throngs of people, but now occupied by none. In the center of the cavern a tremendous waterfall thunders down into a dark pit. It is surrounded by magical, floating staircases. Sparkling lights reflect and flare on the falling torrent, and clouds of silvery water vapor rise from the depths of the well. Suspended in the water’s path are massive waterwheels and dwarven engines, spinning and clanking as the water hits them.

“What are those?” asks Nolin in awe, over the sound of the falling water.

“Generators!” announces Glibstone proudly. “They power the pumps and the forges, the mills and the traps.”

Nolin pauses, and then his eyes light up. “They’re playing music!” Indeed, the clanking and thumping of the waterwheels is creating a massive symphony, counter-pointed by slight variations in the tone of the falling water. Nolin notices one engine that seems broken, probably damaged by earth tremors.

“Indeed,” says Glibstone. “Hymns to Moradin. Designed by our finest craftsmen, more than six hundred years ago.” His face twists. “Back when the city was alive.”

“Astonishing.” Nolin is lost in the music, and begins singing along, his voice echoing across the empty cavern.

Galthia and Tao returns from their quick scouting mission around the plaza. “No corpses. The place has been looted, but everything else has been neatened afterwards. Just like they’re expecting company.”

To be continued….

 

[Piratecat]

The group explores the central square of Mrid, and Tao slowly follows traces of faint footsteps from house to house. She finds some odd clues. In addition to the very orderly looting of valuables, there are other signs of the cleanly ghouls; for instance, she finds a carrion-scented porcelain bowl that was shattered and then magically mended. She also finds newer tracks, roughly dwarven, that probably belonged to something or someone making a rigorous search of every home. Another ghoul? Nolin decides to use his goggles of hindsight to find out.

Focusing on one of the marketplace stands, he lets his gaze fall backwards in time. Faster and faster the image speeds into the past, and Nolin watches earthquake dust rise up from the floor and air pressure from the waterfall stir the faint mist. Then something else flashes across his vision, and he scans forward again until he sees a dwarf examining the remaining items on the marketplace stall’s counter.

To his time-distorted vision, it’s almost an iconic dwarf. Rosy-cheeked, big-bellied, with a plaited beard and twinkling eyes. His shield is battered, his horned helmet cocked on his head, his axe sharp. Nolin blinks. “I’ve seen someone about four or five days ago, right here,” he reports. “It’s a dwarf, but it’s almost too dwarfy. It looks like what you’d get if someone sat you down and told you to draw the quintessential dwarf. I don’t like it.”

“Someone polymorphed?” asks Agar.

“Maybe,” muses Nolin. “He’s got a sack or treasure, and looks like he’s hunting for any valuables that the ghouls missed. Maybe he’s a refugee.” No one believes it. “I’ll go back farther.” He does, and within ten more minutes he views a handful of kobold and goblin ghouls cleaning the area. They are sweeping, scrubbing, and straightening. “Bizarre,” mumbles the bard, and hunts back farther to try and find more images of ghouls. He quickly reaches the limit of the goggles’ time-stretched vision, but he’s seen enough to confirm some of their suspicions. “Yup. Ghouls ransacked this place, stealing and smashing, and then later came back and cleaned everything up. I don’t like it one bit.”

Nervously, the group makes their way through the tunneled byways of the city towards the royal palace. The going becomes rougher, largely due to huge chunks of stone that have dropped from the ceiling. They also need to traverse deep crevices that have opened up in the wide, paved street. Velendo and Priggle stare around at the devastation and independently reach the same conclusion. “What you’re looking at,” opines Velendo, “is the result of a number of small earth tremors. Maybe only one or two of them were big, but there’s been close to ten total unless I miss my guess. They’re highly localized, and we’re moving towards their source. Could be an earthquake spell, but I don’t know for sure. What I do know is avoid loud noises and area effect spells. This ceiling isn’t entirely stable.” They continue towards the palace, picking their way slowly through the rubble. As they enter the grand cavern that should frame the palace’s architecture, it’s quickly clear that the earthquakes have been worse here. Very little of the magnificent architecture and statues remain. Faint ghostly shadows flicker on walls from buried torches of eternal flame, and darkvision limits line of sight to a mere sixty feet. Thus, it is the keen-eyed svirfneblin guide Priggle who is the first to see the dwarf sitting up by the palace stairs, impatiently swinging his iron-shod boots back and forth as he drums on the shattered remains of a pillar.

“Hssst!” cautions Priggle in a whisper. “There’s a dwarf up there. Might be that one Nolin saw.” His habitual frown deepens across his rubbery face. “I wouldn’t trust him if I were you.”

“Duh.” Tao rolls her eyes and casts true seeing and Agar tries to focus his arcane sight on the stranger. As he does so, the dwarf lifts his head in apparent surprise at hearing strange noises out in the darkness.

“Hello?” the dwarf calls in a rich, deep, dwarven voice. “Is someone there?” He jumps to his feet with a hint of clumsiness, drawing his dwarven axe and gazing out into the wreckage. “Who is it?” His voice is filled with the rising lilt of unexpected hope, and he speaks in unaccented dwarven.

“Why, yes!” calls Nolin in return. “Greetings! May we approach?”

“Upworlders?” The dwarf grins widely with unanticipated pleasure, his full beard waggling as he does so. He laughs in delight. “And some of my own folk! Of course! Please, join me!” He studies the group as they approach, just as Agar and Tao are studying him.

“He’s magical, all right,” reports Agar over the mindlink. “Both high and low magic, both arcane and clerical. I think the clerical magic is more powerful. Something’s trying to foil my detection, too, but I think I have it beat.” He squints as the magical vision tries to squirm out of focus.

Tao gulps as her true sight comes within range of the dwarf. Suddenly, his squat dwarven form is superimposed with that of a massive, powerful dragon. Tao sees black faceted gems for eyes, huge rocklike scales on a serpentine body, claws like scythe blades, and an insolent sneer on the draconic face. She tries to suppress an involuntary quiver. “He’s more than magical. Crap. We’re talking to a dragon.”

“A WHAT?” asks Nolin mentally. He tries desperately to keep a smile on his face. To his eyes, the dwarf is just a dwarf, albeit one that should be modeling for portraits somewhere. Out loud, he greets the stranger. “You’re the first survivor we’ve found! Are you all right?” The dwarf nods in assent, apparently oblivious that the group has divined his true nature.

“My name is Oathenor.” The dwarf thumps his chest. “I’m a lone hunter and explorer; I spend a lot of time by myself out in the tunnels and caverns. When I heard a rumor that the ghouls were attacking Mrid, I hurried here, but I was too late.” He shakes his head sadly. “Too late. I’ll have to leave before the ghouls return. Why are your folk here? It’s good to see dwarven soldiers again.” He looks over the group placidly, stroking his beard. Tao, seeing his real form, feels a trill of fear run across her.

“A dragon. A big, brown one with scales the color of rock. Nolin, keep him distracted while we figure out what to do. Maybe he’s an ally… or at least not our enemy.”

Malachite's mental voice intrudes. "And he's evil. Very, very evil."

Nolin looks sick, but rises to the challenge. In a horrible parody of small talk, he introduces the group, providing a brief summary of the group’s battle against the ghouls. In return, Oathenor delivers an honest-sounding story of how he explored the city in vain, looking for at least one survivor. “I think the ghouls tried to get into the Royal Vaults and failed. They’ve doubtlessly gone for assistance, and I’m sure they’ll be back. My duty is clear: rescue what we can and bring it to the Prince.”

“That’s my job,” announces Glibstone. Everyone mentally smacks themselves in the head, because none of the dwarves are on the mind link – and as a result, none of them know that Oathenor isn’t what he appears to be.

Nolin interrupts smoothly. “That’s assuming that we can get the vault door open, and that’s no certainty,” he lies. “If we can, you know that your job is to accompany the goods back.”

“But –“ Glibstone barely sputters before he catches on that something is amiss, and he recovers nicely. “Well, I suppose.” Oathenor examines him with glittering eyes, and then turns his gaze back to Nolin.

“Thank goodness someone is responsible for it.. someone who isn’t me!” He laughs deeply in apparent relief, sounding just like a dwarf. “Well, no time like the present, eh? I’ll show you where it is. I’ll sleep much better when I know you have it safe.” He leads the Defenders through a tangled maze of fallen stone masonry. The palace has been almost completely destroyed by multiple earth tremors, and Glibstone has trouble holding back tears at the devastation. Subtlely, Priggle and a few of the dwarven troops peel off to go and search the palace’s remains. Oathenor, up near the front, doesn’t give any indication of noticing.

After more than five minutes of crawling and clambering along a makeshift path, the disguised dragon-dwarf leads them through a collapsed temple to Moradin and to a shattered wall that once held a secret door. “There it is,” he gestures to an unmarked wall. The vault door would normally be secret, but the stone wall around it is horribly scarred – clawed, acid-pocked. Only a huge section of wall is untouched. The Defenders exchange glances as Oathenor idly sits down on a hunk of statue that turns out to be the remains of Moradin’s head, broken in half by earthquakes. The supposed dwarf doesn’t seem to notice or care about the sacrilegious act. “Look at those claws; they must have had some horrible monster with them, but whatever it was it couldn’t claw the door open. Hard to believe, but good for our people.” His gaze seems to burn as it falls across the group. “How do you suppose you open it?”

Velendo opens his mouth to lie to the dragon. He can’t help but think that it could go horribly wrong.

To be continued….