HalfOrc HalfBiscuit
Adventurer
Just delurking to express my admiration to Rel for coming up with this stuff, and to his players for surviving it (... mostly ... so far).
Rel's Faded Glory III: Glory Reborn (FINAL UPDATE 6/22 - SHE'S DONE, BABY!!)
- Thread starter Rel
- Start date
Look_a_Unicorn
First Post
Hi Rel- in the last two weeks I've devoured all three of your Faded Glory story hours with great relish. Incredibly enjoyable to read, and I am greatly impressed with both your DM'ing (and story writing abilities) and your players ability to pull portions of their anatomy out of the fire at the last instant 
Thanks for writing- I'll be eagerly awaiting any future updates.
Thanks for writing- I'll be eagerly awaiting any future updates.
Rel
Liquid Awesome
Look_a_Unicorn said:Hi Rel- in the last two weeks I've devoured all three of your Faded Glory story hours with great relish. Incredibly enjoyable to read, and I am greatly impressed with both your DM'ing (and story writing abilities) and your players ability to pull portions of their anatomy out of the fire at the last instant
Thanks for writing- I'll be eagerly awaiting any future updates.
WOW. That is some serious reading right there. I am humbled (my players probably won't belive that since they know how arrogant I am
and thankful for the compliments.I've had a busier week with work than I anticipated but rest assured that I am still working on the next update. Just today I was, via e-mail, asking my players, "Remember that session where you felt like you were getting screwed but you were really getting Royally Screwed? Am I remembering that right?" They replied, essentially, "Yes, but there was one more small way in which we got screwed. So don't forget to add that in too."
I won't.
And thank you reading.
Look_a_Unicorn
First Post
Rel said:WOW. That is some serious reading right there. I am humbled (my players probably won't belive that since they know how arrogant I am
I've had a busier week with work than I anticipated but rest assured that I am still working on the next update. Just today I was, via e-mail, asking my players, "Remember that session where you felt like you were getting screwed but you were really getting Royally Screwed? Am I remembering that right?" They replied, essentially, "Yes, but there was one more small way in which we got screwed. So don't forget to add that in too."
I won't.
And thank you reading.
What can I say- I have a poor work ethic
(and an addictive nature when it comes to engrossing stories). Don't worry about the accusations of arrogance, if I had of written this (and waded through job troubles and family obligations...) I would be bloody proud of myself too!
Rel
Liquid Awesome
Marcus and Cathal were drenched in blood. How much of it was their own and how much that of their enemy was impossible to tell but they were slick with it.
What they could tell was that their enemies were practically endless. Each time they struck down one, another surged in to take its place. And it somehow seemed that each new creature was more powerful than the last. They could not guess at why this was but they did notice that as one would fall it would collapse into a pool of blood that would flow backwards to be reabsorbed by the oozing flood of blood that ran up the corridor toward them.
This tide of blood was becoming a concern all its own. Where it had surged far enough up the passageway to come into contact with their feet, they found it to lash out and splash through the cracks in their armor, burning their skin with its acid touch. As a result, they found that they were constantly being forced back up the corridor toward the larger room beyond.
Cathal glanced back over his shoulder as his blade split the head of another of the amorphous Blood Ferals and saw that they were within a dozen paces of the larger room. Once there, the large numbers of the enemy were going to be brought to bear more fully and that would likely seal their fate. “We cannot hold them much longer!” he cried to his companions. As he did so he slashed at the floor where the pooling blood curled back to strike again. His blade simply clanged off the floor doing nothing to the liquid evil that assailed them.
“I’m DOING the best I CAN!” Marius screamed back over his shoulder as he desperately worked to defeat the stout lock holding them inside the room that threatened to become their tomb. His hands worked feverishly and he discovered that he was whispering to himself, “come on…come on”.
On the floor below Lazarius and Speaks were looking first one way and then the other, trying to gauge whether or not the door would be open in time. Lazarius found his fingers twitching with anticipation and was about to interrupt Marius and tell him to get out of the way when he heard the Imperial Explorer cry out, “GOT IT!!”
At nearly the same instant Marcus and Cathal scrambled backwards into the room, weapons dripping blood and ready to strike the pursuing Blood Ferals. A voice behind them commanded, “MOVE!” and Speaks shoved the two men apart to give himself a clear view of the corridor. His hands wove the Wild together and a band of reddish light snaked its way up the hallway before bursting into a Wall of Fire. Within seconds it was accompanied by the popping and bubbling sounds of boiling blood.
Speaks beckoned to the pair of warriors, “Let’s go! I don’t know how long that will stop them!” He was disconcerted to note that the blood that dripped from the clothes and weapons of the two men began to ooze along the floor, right into the fire to join the giant flood that had spawned it. They turned and ran up the stairs to find that Marius and Lazarius had already gone through the doors and into the room beyond.
The next room was flooded with greenish light that poured in from stained-glass windows some forty feet above the floor. The room rose to a total height of sixty feet and was nearly a hundred feet wide and seventy deep, lined on each side by a row of large statues of Bane. Staircases left and right descended in graceful curves to the floor twenty feet below them. From there it was just a short dash to the huge pair of doors opposite them and, hopefully, freedom. But just as they took the first couple of steps toward escape, they saw that the statues were taking steps of their own.
Marius was at the foot of the stairs when he noticed the movement and he never slowed down, bolting toward the enormous doors that marked the exit. Lazarius was, unknown to anyone else in the group thanks to his Invisibility, right behind Marius, having flown down from the landing above using his magic. The other three of the companions were not so fortunate and found themselves descending the stairs toward the waiting Guardian Statues.
Seeing that the numbers were against them, Lazarius summoned an Obscuring Mist to conceal the others and called out, “Come toward my voice! We’re at the door!”
Cathal considered making a dash toward Lazarius’ voice. His magical boots certainly gave him the mobility to get there quickly before the Guardian Statues engaged them. But that would mean abandoning Speaks and Marcus on the stairs. The Druid might manage to win free in one of his bird forms but the heavily armored Marcus was in no condition to make a quick dash to escape. Cathal braced himself and the onslaught of animate stone descended.
Marius got directly next to the door and could see that it was covered with the intricately scribed runes similar to those they’d encountered in the maze below. “It’s Warded! I’m not sure I can deactivate these!” He looked across the vast expanse of dark wood and realized that he couldn’t even see the edges of some of these runes, thanks to the Obscuring Mist.
“There’s no time! Get out of the way!” screamed Lazarius. He floated some twenty feet into the air and reached his hand into his Haversack, calling forth an item that he had hoped never to find a need for again. He held the circlet with its row of inwardly pointed spikes and steeled himself to place it on his brow.
In the mists chaos reigned in a scene all too similar to that in the dark and misty corridors of the maze they had recently fought their way through. But there the Trollkin had hit them in brief assaults before sinking back into the black fog, waiting to strike again. Here they were subjected to a constant and brutal onslaught of stone raining down upon them. Each Guardian Statue held a thick, stone mace in one hand and the other was a gloved fist wreathed in green fire. A blow from either felt like that of a stone battering ram.
In the first instant of the fight, Speaks had vaulted over the railing a few feet above the bottom of the stairs. He left the stairs as a man but landed on the four hoofed feet of a giant boar. He charged into the flank of one of the statues even as it closed and smashed its mace into the upraised Shield of Marcus. Cathal moved to his right and got behind the towering colossus hoping to catch it in the flank while it was distracted. But he found that was not capable of being distracted, focused only on the target it had chosen. This one had chosen Marcus. An instant later, two more of the Guardian Statues engaged from along the wall and Cathal tumbled into a maelstrom of mist and stone.
Pain seared through Lazarius’ mind as the spikes pierced his flesh and locked onto his skull beneath. His training at the Imperial War College kicked in and he shut down the pain, focusing on the magic he needed to perform. To fail this spell would place himself and his Legion in jeopardy. He must not fail. He would not fail. The words came to his lips. The magic shot from his hands.
The blow from the mace was tremendous and was followed a second later by one from the fiery stone glove. Speaks’ porcine body was rocked by the attacks that left skin torn and bones broken in their wake. His tusks had left gouges all over the breastplate of the Guardian Statue before him but he knew that he was in a battle that he could not win. Suddenly, from behind him, he heard the crackling of lightning that frequently accompanied Lazarius’ magic. An instant later it was followed by a fiery explosion that erupted both into and out of the Entry Hall. Speaks felt the hairs on his flank singe in the blast. But it had also blasted a hole in the Obscuring Mist and he could see his way to open air for the first time in days. He turned and ran for the exit.
Marius huddled against the wall, rapier in hand, looking all around him for the approach of an enemy and straining his ears for the stone-on-stone footsteps of the Guardian Statues. What he heard instead was the crackle of lightning followed by a detonation that shook the thick, stone wall he leaned against. He didn’t know if Lazarius was still alive but if the doors were ever going to open then they were open now. Cringing inwardly at what he might find, he ran toward the explosion.
Everywhere there were enemies and Marcus lashed out at one after another. His breath came in ragged gasps and he prayed with what little air he could spare from the battle. He besought the blessing of St. Cuthbert as he fought these effigies of his ancient enemy. He prayed for strength, guidance and aid. And, failing those, a good death. The blows came from every side and each had the strength to crush a man to death by itself. His armor was creased and rent and his lungs bubbled with his own blood. Still he fought on to the end, enduring far more than any human being was meant to endure. He noted with some small shred of satisfaction that the Guardian Statue before him crumbled to pieces just as the green, flaming fist caught him from behind and drove him to the ground. The mace blow that followed shattered his spine and ended his struggle.
Marius was the first to emerge from the Temple of Bane, onto its steps. The vast courtyard that made up the center of The City of Endless Summer sprawled before him, the walls of the caldera rising up all around it. But the huge expanse of cobblestones was marred at the center by a lake that had recently formed. Fed by gushing fountains that had once been grates to allow light and air into the chambers below the City, a lake of blood now dominated landscape that extended from the bottom stairs of the Temple. Its shores were within a hundred feet of where Marius now stood and it steadily inched its way in the direction of the temple. Onto the stony beach thus formed began to crawl more of the familiar shapes of the Blood Ferals.
What they could tell was that their enemies were practically endless. Each time they struck down one, another surged in to take its place. And it somehow seemed that each new creature was more powerful than the last. They could not guess at why this was but they did notice that as one would fall it would collapse into a pool of blood that would flow backwards to be reabsorbed by the oozing flood of blood that ran up the corridor toward them.
This tide of blood was becoming a concern all its own. Where it had surged far enough up the passageway to come into contact with their feet, they found it to lash out and splash through the cracks in their armor, burning their skin with its acid touch. As a result, they found that they were constantly being forced back up the corridor toward the larger room beyond.
Cathal glanced back over his shoulder as his blade split the head of another of the amorphous Blood Ferals and saw that they were within a dozen paces of the larger room. Once there, the large numbers of the enemy were going to be brought to bear more fully and that would likely seal their fate. “We cannot hold them much longer!” he cried to his companions. As he did so he slashed at the floor where the pooling blood curled back to strike again. His blade simply clanged off the floor doing nothing to the liquid evil that assailed them.
“I’m DOING the best I CAN!” Marius screamed back over his shoulder as he desperately worked to defeat the stout lock holding them inside the room that threatened to become their tomb. His hands worked feverishly and he discovered that he was whispering to himself, “come on…come on”.
On the floor below Lazarius and Speaks were looking first one way and then the other, trying to gauge whether or not the door would be open in time. Lazarius found his fingers twitching with anticipation and was about to interrupt Marius and tell him to get out of the way when he heard the Imperial Explorer cry out, “GOT IT!!”
At nearly the same instant Marcus and Cathal scrambled backwards into the room, weapons dripping blood and ready to strike the pursuing Blood Ferals. A voice behind them commanded, “MOVE!” and Speaks shoved the two men apart to give himself a clear view of the corridor. His hands wove the Wild together and a band of reddish light snaked its way up the hallway before bursting into a Wall of Fire. Within seconds it was accompanied by the popping and bubbling sounds of boiling blood.
Speaks beckoned to the pair of warriors, “Let’s go! I don’t know how long that will stop them!” He was disconcerted to note that the blood that dripped from the clothes and weapons of the two men began to ooze along the floor, right into the fire to join the giant flood that had spawned it. They turned and ran up the stairs to find that Marius and Lazarius had already gone through the doors and into the room beyond.
The next room was flooded with greenish light that poured in from stained-glass windows some forty feet above the floor. The room rose to a total height of sixty feet and was nearly a hundred feet wide and seventy deep, lined on each side by a row of large statues of Bane. Staircases left and right descended in graceful curves to the floor twenty feet below them. From there it was just a short dash to the huge pair of doors opposite them and, hopefully, freedom. But just as they took the first couple of steps toward escape, they saw that the statues were taking steps of their own.
Marius was at the foot of the stairs when he noticed the movement and he never slowed down, bolting toward the enormous doors that marked the exit. Lazarius was, unknown to anyone else in the group thanks to his Invisibility, right behind Marius, having flown down from the landing above using his magic. The other three of the companions were not so fortunate and found themselves descending the stairs toward the waiting Guardian Statues.
Seeing that the numbers were against them, Lazarius summoned an Obscuring Mist to conceal the others and called out, “Come toward my voice! We’re at the door!”
Cathal considered making a dash toward Lazarius’ voice. His magical boots certainly gave him the mobility to get there quickly before the Guardian Statues engaged them. But that would mean abandoning Speaks and Marcus on the stairs. The Druid might manage to win free in one of his bird forms but the heavily armored Marcus was in no condition to make a quick dash to escape. Cathal braced himself and the onslaught of animate stone descended.
Marius got directly next to the door and could see that it was covered with the intricately scribed runes similar to those they’d encountered in the maze below. “It’s Warded! I’m not sure I can deactivate these!” He looked across the vast expanse of dark wood and realized that he couldn’t even see the edges of some of these runes, thanks to the Obscuring Mist.
“There’s no time! Get out of the way!” screamed Lazarius. He floated some twenty feet into the air and reached his hand into his Haversack, calling forth an item that he had hoped never to find a need for again. He held the circlet with its row of inwardly pointed spikes and steeled himself to place it on his brow.
In the mists chaos reigned in a scene all too similar to that in the dark and misty corridors of the maze they had recently fought their way through. But there the Trollkin had hit them in brief assaults before sinking back into the black fog, waiting to strike again. Here they were subjected to a constant and brutal onslaught of stone raining down upon them. Each Guardian Statue held a thick, stone mace in one hand and the other was a gloved fist wreathed in green fire. A blow from either felt like that of a stone battering ram.
In the first instant of the fight, Speaks had vaulted over the railing a few feet above the bottom of the stairs. He left the stairs as a man but landed on the four hoofed feet of a giant boar. He charged into the flank of one of the statues even as it closed and smashed its mace into the upraised Shield of Marcus. Cathal moved to his right and got behind the towering colossus hoping to catch it in the flank while it was distracted. But he found that was not capable of being distracted, focused only on the target it had chosen. This one had chosen Marcus. An instant later, two more of the Guardian Statues engaged from along the wall and Cathal tumbled into a maelstrom of mist and stone.
Pain seared through Lazarius’ mind as the spikes pierced his flesh and locked onto his skull beneath. His training at the Imperial War College kicked in and he shut down the pain, focusing on the magic he needed to perform. To fail this spell would place himself and his Legion in jeopardy. He must not fail. He would not fail. The words came to his lips. The magic shot from his hands.
The blow from the mace was tremendous and was followed a second later by one from the fiery stone glove. Speaks’ porcine body was rocked by the attacks that left skin torn and bones broken in their wake. His tusks had left gouges all over the breastplate of the Guardian Statue before him but he knew that he was in a battle that he could not win. Suddenly, from behind him, he heard the crackling of lightning that frequently accompanied Lazarius’ magic. An instant later it was followed by a fiery explosion that erupted both into and out of the Entry Hall. Speaks felt the hairs on his flank singe in the blast. But it had also blasted a hole in the Obscuring Mist and he could see his way to open air for the first time in days. He turned and ran for the exit.
Marius huddled against the wall, rapier in hand, looking all around him for the approach of an enemy and straining his ears for the stone-on-stone footsteps of the Guardian Statues. What he heard instead was the crackle of lightning followed by a detonation that shook the thick, stone wall he leaned against. He didn’t know if Lazarius was still alive but if the doors were ever going to open then they were open now. Cringing inwardly at what he might find, he ran toward the explosion.
Everywhere there were enemies and Marcus lashed out at one after another. His breath came in ragged gasps and he prayed with what little air he could spare from the battle. He besought the blessing of St. Cuthbert as he fought these effigies of his ancient enemy. He prayed for strength, guidance and aid. And, failing those, a good death. The blows came from every side and each had the strength to crush a man to death by itself. His armor was creased and rent and his lungs bubbled with his own blood. Still he fought on to the end, enduring far more than any human being was meant to endure. He noted with some small shred of satisfaction that the Guardian Statue before him crumbled to pieces just as the green, flaming fist caught him from behind and drove him to the ground. The mace blow that followed shattered his spine and ended his struggle.
Marius was the first to emerge from the Temple of Bane, onto its steps. The vast courtyard that made up the center of The City of Endless Summer sprawled before him, the walls of the caldera rising up all around it. But the huge expanse of cobblestones was marred at the center by a lake that had recently formed. Fed by gushing fountains that had once been grates to allow light and air into the chambers below the City, a lake of blood now dominated landscape that extended from the bottom stairs of the Temple. Its shores were within a hundred feet of where Marius now stood and it steadily inched its way in the direction of the temple. Onto the stony beach thus formed began to crawl more of the familiar shapes of the Blood Ferals.
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