Menu
News
All News
Dungeons & Dragons
Level Up: Advanced 5th Edition
Pathfinder
Starfinder
Warhammer
2d20 System
Year Zero Engine
Industry News
Reviews
Dragon Reflections
Columns
Weekly Digests
Weekly News Digest
Freebies, Sales & Bundles
RPG Print News
RPG Crowdfunding News
Game Content
ENterplanetary DimENsions
Mythological Figures
Opinion
Worlds of Design
Peregrine's Next
RPG Evolution
Other Columns
From the Freelancing Frontline
Monster ENcyclopedia
WotC/TSR Alumni Look Back
4 Hours w/RSD (Ryan Dancey)
The Road to 3E (Jonathan Tweet)
Greenwood's Realms (Ed Greenwood)
Drawmij's TSR (Jim Ward)
Community
Forums & Topics
Forum List
Latest Posts
Forum list
*Dungeons & Dragons
Level Up: Advanced 5th Edition
D&D Older Editions
*TTRPGs General
*Pathfinder & Starfinder
EN Publishing
*Geek Talk & Media
Search forums
Chat/Discord
Resources
Wiki
Pages
Latest activity
Media
New media
New comments
Search media
Downloads
Latest reviews
Search resources
EN Publishing
Store
EN5ider
Adventures in ZEITGEIST
Awfully Cheerful Engine
What's OLD is NEW
Judge Dredd & The Worlds Of 2000AD
War of the Burning Sky
Level Up: Advanced 5E
Events & Releases
Upcoming Events
Private Events
Featured Events
Socials!
Twitch
YouTube
Facebook (EN Publishing)
Facebook (EN World)
Twitter
Instagram
TikTok
Podcast
Features
Top 5 RPGs Compiled Charts 2004-Present
Adventure Game Industry Market Research Summary (RPGs) V1.0
Ryan Dancey: Acquiring TSR
Q&A With Gary Gygax
D&D Rules FAQs
TSR, WotC, & Paizo: A Comparative History
D&D Pronunciation Guide
Million Dollar TTRPG Kickstarters
Tabletop RPG Podcast Hall of Fame
Eric Noah's Unofficial D&D 3rd Edition News
D&D in the Mainstream
D&D & RPG History
About Morrus
Log in
Register
What's new
Search
Search
Search titles only
By:
Forums & Topics
Forum List
Latest Posts
Forum list
*Dungeons & Dragons
Level Up: Advanced 5th Edition
D&D Older Editions
*TTRPGs General
*Pathfinder & Starfinder
EN Publishing
*Geek Talk & Media
Search forums
Chat/Discord
Menu
Log in
Register
Install the app
Install
Community
Playing the Game
Story Hour
Shemeska's Planescape Storyhour - (Updated 14February2024)
JavaScript is disabled. For a better experience, please enable JavaScript in your browser before proceeding.
You are using an out of date browser. It may not display this or other websites correctly.
You should upgrade or use an
alternative browser
.
Reply to thread
Message
<blockquote data-quote="Shemeska" data-source="post: 6746452" data-attributes="member: 11697"><p>Back at the Portal Jammer, Tristol sat at a corner table in the main taproom, staring at a crisp white envelope marked with his arcane symbol as well as a symbol of a specific house from the nation of Halruaa: his own. Also embossed upon the envelope both physically and with far too much use of illusion magic, two other symbols stood out: those of his parents.</p><p></p><p>As soon as the envelope was opened, a spell triggered to notify the sender that it had indeed reached its intended recipient: her son. As soon as the nearest portal to Toril opened in Sigil, the spell carried its message back to the original caster in a tower in Tristol’s native magocracy.</p><p></p><p>By comparison with the envelope, the letter itself was a relatively brief and unadorned affair, at least outside of the magically illuminated and moving letters at the start of each paragraph that flickered with flame, or vines, or roaring dragons. The illusory decoration seemed more than a bit overwhelming considering that the content of the letter itself comprised little more than half a page of text – none of it handwritten but rather magically composed in response to his mother’s verbal dictation.</p><p></p><p>“Your mom had a lot of fun with illusion magic, even just on the envelope.” Nisha tapped the envelope with the tip of her tail, drawing forth a rush of illusory wind and leaves, as well as a soft background of chirping birds from Tristol’s native corner of Faerun. “Can I say that she went overboard with it? It’s just a letter.”</p><p></p><p>“Mom is an illusionist.” Tristol smirked and rolled his eyes. “I had to grow up with this. This is on the low end of her scale of ostentatious. It’s part of why I left home, and it’s most of the reason why I went into evocation as a specialty.”</p><p></p><p>“Oh don’t worry Tristol.” The tiefling kissed his shoulder and curled her tail around his. “I think evocation is a much more awesome school of magic. Plus, I’m sure that she can’t be all that bad.”</p><p></p><p>Tristol glanced over at Nisha, not saying a word. His expression said everything he needed to convey.</p><p></p><p>“Oh…” Nisha frowned. “So umm… she knows about me right?”</p><p></p><p>Tristol took a shot of ale and pushed the letter closer to Nisha. The Xaositect read over the text and promptly purloined her boyfriend’s drink for a shot of it herself.</p><p></p><p>“Yeah…” Tristol smirked. “She made Dad scry on me. More than once. She wants to know why a son of hers was in Pandemonium and Plague-Mort. Also you…”</p><p></p><p>Nisha snatched the letter out of Tristol’s hand and read the passage in question. The bell on her tail rattled like an angry hornets’ nest before she laughed out loud and shook her head.</p><p></p><p>“I’m so sorry.” Tristol put his head down on his girlfriend’s shoulder.</p><p></p><p>“Well technically she’s correct.” Nisha shrugged. “I am by every definition a… how did she put it? A ‘demon-blooded wench’.” She stuck out her tongue, tapped her hooves on the floor, and ran a fingertip along the line of one of her horns before tapping the silver charm that hung suspended from its tip.</p><p></p><p>“Again, I’m so very, very sorry.” Tristol groaned. “She’s overbearing at the best of times and she has her legacy to worry about. It’s all part of Halruaa and how mage families operate. She and my father were an arranged marriage and she wanted the same for me, both to strengthen the family’s and her prestige, and also to breed better mages.”</p><p></p><p>“What’s wrong with me?” Nisha tilted her head to the side. “I’m a mage. Sort of. The kind that tosses a fireball occasionally but mostly prefers to knife you in the back kind. That counts in Halruaa right?”</p><p></p><p>“You can cast fireball now?” The expression on Tristol’s face was somewhere between surprise and worry. “A wand or actually casting it from memory?”</p><p></p><p>“From memory I guess?” Nisha shrugged. “I’ve been reading through your spellbooks and it’s rubbing off. I’ll be working my way up to archmage in no time.”</p><p></p><p>Tristol ever so slightly paled. “Please don’t throw fireballs at my parents. They want us to visit. Both of us.”</p><p></p><p>“Can I call her mom?” Nisha clapped her hands together gleefully. “I promise I won’t walk off with too much of their stuff if you let me call her mom.”</p><p></p><p>“You can call her whatever you want.” Tristol leaned in and planted a kiss on her lips. “Just please be on your best behavior when we visit.”</p><p></p><p>“I’m always on my best behavior!” She waved her hands dismissively and smiled. “So when do they want us to visit? I stopped reading at ‘demon-blooded wench’.”</p><p></p><p>“Soon?” Tristol frowned and glanced over at Nisha. “You look less worried about this than I am. Actually, you look excited.”</p><p></p><p>“I never had parents that I knew.” She ruffled Tristol’s hair and fussed with his vulpine ears. “So I’m sort of excited to adopt them. Plus, if you’re all super worried, we can bring along the others. Your mom is less likely to overreact if we bring other people.”</p><p></p><p>“I suppose that we can do that.” He leaned in and gave her another kiss which she happily returned.</p><p></p><p>One kiss of course begat another, which begat another in a long lineage of pecks and snogs. Five minutes of overly cutesy affection later, they realized that customers were staring at them. Tristol tried to look professional and Nisha of course waved at the ones still staring.</p><p></p><p>More conversation about the forthcoming trip to Halruaa followed, with the logistics of it all, a primer on Halruaan customs and social expectations being the heart of the matter. Nisha paid rapt attention to Tristol’s explanations of each and every item, but she took notice as he yawned several times. Eventually she put a finger on his nose and stopped him.</p><p></p><p>“You’re still not sleeping well.” Nisha poked her boyfriend in the ribs. “Talk to me.”</p><p></p><p>“I’m still having the creepy howler dreams.” He frowned and his ears folded back. “I’ve found some references to similar things though, all linked to Pandemonium. I might be on to something.”</p><p></p><p>“Maybe your folks can help?” Nisha poked the letter with her tail. “Technically your mom and dad are archmages or pretty close to it.”</p><p></p><p>“Oh no. No no no no.” Tristol shook his head. “The last thing I need is for them to think that I’m not competent or that you’ve gotten me cursed or into trouble that we can’t handle ourselves. I’m going to handle this and not breathe a word of it to them.”</p><p></p><p>“Keep me up to speed.” Nisha leaned in and put her head on his shoulder. “I’ll help in any way that I can you know.”</p><p></p><p>“You’re sweet.” Tristol smiled warmly and curled his tail around hers. “I don’t care what my mother says or thinks about you. You mean more to me than her expectations.”</p><p></p><p>Nisha kissed his nose, “So speaking of familial wants and social expectations, should we tell them about our plans?”</p><p></p><p>“My parents? Or the others?” Tristol glanced across the room, noting Florian, Toras, and Fyrehowl in residence.</p><p></p><p>“Either or both.” Nisha shrugged and polished off the last of Tristol’s ale. “Eventually they’ll have to know I suppose. I can’t wait to see the looks on their faces.”</p><p></p><p>“Not yet. I’d like to see how they react to you first and then we can tell them and the others as well.” Tristol kissed her nose. “Let’s make it a surprise.”</p><p></p><p></p><p style="text-align: center">****</p><p></p><p></p><p>While the far too adorable tiefling and aasimar conspired in their corner of the Portal Jammer’s main room, Florian sat with a scotch in one hand and her holy symbol in the other, worried sick about the floor suddenly vanishing beneath her. Toras watched her attempt to stay calm, and without telling her a thing, he sat by himself with pen and ink, writing an elaborate ‘I am so very sorry’ letter to a specific fiend who in his opinion deserved nothing less than a hip check over the side of Sigil’s ring. Still, as much as he despised writing the note, it needed to be done; assuming of course that the ‘loth was somehow behind the attempted assassination.</p><p></p><p>‘Honored Shemeska…’</p><p></p><p>Toras scratched out a line in his draft and took a sip of ale.</p><p></p><p>‘Supreme *sshole Shemeska…’</p><p></p><p>No.</p><p></p><p>‘Biggest b*tch wearing last year’s fashions…’</p><p></p><p>Absolutely not.</p><p></p><p>‘Queen of the Crosstrade…’</p><p></p><p>That’s one way to a portal opening under you as well.</p><p></p><p>‘I can’t wait until I can stab you in the throat you stupid c*nt yugoloth…’</p><p></p><p>Toras smiled smugly and scratched out the attempts.</p><p></p><p>‘Honored King of the Crosstrade…’</p><p></p><p>She was behind it, the attack on Florian, wasn’t she? She had to be.</p><p></p><p>Assuming she was, would she do more than she already had? What else might she do to make their lives miserable? Would appealing to her ego be enough?</p><p></p><p></p><p style="text-align: center">****</p><p></p><p></p><p>As all of that occurred on the first floor of the Portal Jammer, Shemeska’s former -and now wholly liberated- plaything ascended the stairs with a yawn. Desiring nothing beyond a nap, the bladesinger walked from the landing down the hallway and towards his room at the end of the corridor. He passed Fyrehowl’s room, then Florian’s, then Nisha’s room.</p><p></p><p>“Well damn…” He paused and stared into the Xaositect’s room through the open door. The room was completely empty except for a note pinned to the door. </p><p></p><p>‘This room now filled with invisible traps and an equally invisible shrine to the Slaadi Lords. Nisha and her stuffs have now relocated to the room of the most adorable mage in Sigil. <3’</p><p></p><p>Clueless laughed for a moment and continued down the hallway, smiling at how well Nisha and Tristol were moving along in their relationship. The thought of invisible traps and a shrine to the Slaad lords caused him a moment of mental pause to consider if Nisha was simply being random or if she’d actually done what she’d written down. He would have gone back to her now empty former room to look at any traces of magic to confirm it all, but he never had the chance.</p><p></p><p>Bound to Clueless’s belt, Cilret Leobtav’s dagger erupted with a ghostly radiance and tore itself free, lurching under its own power to lodge itself blade first into the door to the bladesinger’s left. The room was one of the empty rooms that they’d never used, and most of its interior was filled with support beams for the spelljamming ship lodged into the Jammer’s superstructure.</p><p></p><p>“What the f*cking f*ck?!” Clueless caught himself on the doorframe as the dagger tore itself free. His eyes were wide as the blade rattled, worming itself into the wood another inch as he watched. Each time a majority of the blade’s mass passed the plane of the closed and sealed door, the doorframe flickered with the cold light of an opening and then closing portal.</p><p></p><p>Slowly, Clueless reached down to his belt to grab the sending stone he carried. Tapping it, he sent the following telepathic message to each of the others, “Get upstairs. Now.”</p><p> </p><p></p><p style="text-align: center">****</p><p></p><p></p><p>Ice sparkled amidst the ashes that covered the ground four inches deep, providing a soft crunching noise to any movements, and a percussive refrain to the chorus of whispers that filled the air with a harrowing susurrus. A moment of silence and you could hear the voices calling out for mercy and begging for death.</p><p></p><p>The scratch of a pen and a rasping, phlegmatic cough broke the moment of silence.</p><p></p><p>“Whisper all you like misbegotten wretches, your fate was set the moment this reality sprang into being, even if technically, the exegesis of it all hasn’t even happened yet. Funny…”</p><p></p><p>The chorus of voices whispered back, and in the chaos of their pleading, the solitary figure sitting at the heart of the Vale of Frozen Ashes atop the broken foundation stones of a once grandiose cathedral took note of it all. Nothing was missed: not a word, not a note of inflection, not the nature of the creature pleading in agony, nothing. Every piece of information, every piece of data was written down and considered in a chronicle of pointless, unceasing agony.</p><p></p><p>“Oh yes of course, the celestials may scream the most,” The pen scratched with a fury that seemed to mock the concept of discrete moments of time, somehow recording everything in the pages of the massive book perched on its owner’s near skeletal knees. “But oh you the fiends, you my children, your agonies comprise the majority of my work. Music to while away the time before your doom comes once again. I would smile, but alas, I feel nothing except through you. Suffer beautiful ones and know that I at least am not the cause. I never am.”</p><p></p><p>The creature spread its arms, stretching with the sound of creaking, popping joints as it abruptly doubled over in a fit of coughing. When the paroxysm finally ended, its feet and the ashes before it were flashed red with blood that boiled and curdled as it touched the ashes, transforming the soot of dead outsiders into a carpet of wriggling things gasping and clawing at the ashes and one another in a transient mockery of life. The cursed form of spontaneous generation lasted only a moment before the blood evaporated, subsumed back into the substance of not Gehenna, but the Waste, leaving the misbegotten things to die.</p><p></p><p>A subtle current of change rippled through the air. A tenuous moment of interplay between ancient magic and planar mechanics, it would have gone unnoticed by virtually any being except for the abomination that sat there amidst the ashes.</p><p></p><p>“The Lady comes knocking…” The being continued its chronicle as hundreds of feet away a portal to Sigil flickered into existence. “Doors, portals, and pathways: bladed and blind. The Clock ticks oh Serene one, even for you.”</p><p></p><p>Sensing the blood of mortals stepping into the Vale, the roving packs of phiuls shrieked and gathered. The pen continued to write with no concern at all, though its owner turned and glanced in the direction of the portal, curious to see who it would deposit into a piece of the Waste torn free from its moorings and hurled into the depths of Gehenna.</p><p></p><p>“Welcome our guests won’t you?” The elder thing turned to glance at the frozen, dead but undying face of a carbonized solar. “Whisper your words of warning, because I certainly won’t. But of course remember, all of this has been foretold. All of this is happening exactly as we have seen, even this now.” It grinned a skeletal smile, extending a grey and mucous coated tongue to wet a finger and turn its book to a new page. “Another sign manifests itself and the Clock ticks towards midnight. It cannot be stopped.”</p><p></p><p>The distant light of the open portal glimmered in its dull, dead eyes and Sarkithel fek Parthis smiled.</p><p></p><p></p><p style="text-align: center">****</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Shemeska, post: 6746452, member: 11697"] Back at the Portal Jammer, Tristol sat at a corner table in the main taproom, staring at a crisp white envelope marked with his arcane symbol as well as a symbol of a specific house from the nation of Halruaa: his own. Also embossed upon the envelope both physically and with far too much use of illusion magic, two other symbols stood out: those of his parents. As soon as the envelope was opened, a spell triggered to notify the sender that it had indeed reached its intended recipient: her son. As soon as the nearest portal to Toril opened in Sigil, the spell carried its message back to the original caster in a tower in Tristol’s native magocracy. By comparison with the envelope, the letter itself was a relatively brief and unadorned affair, at least outside of the magically illuminated and moving letters at the start of each paragraph that flickered with flame, or vines, or roaring dragons. The illusory decoration seemed more than a bit overwhelming considering that the content of the letter itself comprised little more than half a page of text – none of it handwritten but rather magically composed in response to his mother’s verbal dictation. “Your mom had a lot of fun with illusion magic, even just on the envelope.” Nisha tapped the envelope with the tip of her tail, drawing forth a rush of illusory wind and leaves, as well as a soft background of chirping birds from Tristol’s native corner of Faerun. “Can I say that she went overboard with it? It’s just a letter.” “Mom is an illusionist.” Tristol smirked and rolled his eyes. “I had to grow up with this. This is on the low end of her scale of ostentatious. It’s part of why I left home, and it’s most of the reason why I went into evocation as a specialty.” “Oh don’t worry Tristol.” The tiefling kissed his shoulder and curled her tail around his. “I think evocation is a much more awesome school of magic. Plus, I’m sure that she can’t be all that bad.” Tristol glanced over at Nisha, not saying a word. His expression said everything he needed to convey. “Oh…” Nisha frowned. “So umm… she knows about me right?” Tristol took a shot of ale and pushed the letter closer to Nisha. The Xaositect read over the text and promptly purloined her boyfriend’s drink for a shot of it herself. “Yeah…” Tristol smirked. “She made Dad scry on me. More than once. She wants to know why a son of hers was in Pandemonium and Plague-Mort. Also you…” Nisha snatched the letter out of Tristol’s hand and read the passage in question. The bell on her tail rattled like an angry hornets’ nest before she laughed out loud and shook her head. “I’m so sorry.” Tristol put his head down on his girlfriend’s shoulder. “Well technically she’s correct.” Nisha shrugged. “I am by every definition a… how did she put it? A ‘demon-blooded wench’.” She stuck out her tongue, tapped her hooves on the floor, and ran a fingertip along the line of one of her horns before tapping the silver charm that hung suspended from its tip. “Again, I’m so very, very sorry.” Tristol groaned. “She’s overbearing at the best of times and she has her legacy to worry about. It’s all part of Halruaa and how mage families operate. She and my father were an arranged marriage and she wanted the same for me, both to strengthen the family’s and her prestige, and also to breed better mages.” “What’s wrong with me?” Nisha tilted her head to the side. “I’m a mage. Sort of. The kind that tosses a fireball occasionally but mostly prefers to knife you in the back kind. That counts in Halruaa right?” “You can cast fireball now?” The expression on Tristol’s face was somewhere between surprise and worry. “A wand or actually casting it from memory?” “From memory I guess?” Nisha shrugged. “I’ve been reading through your spellbooks and it’s rubbing off. I’ll be working my way up to archmage in no time.” Tristol ever so slightly paled. “Please don’t throw fireballs at my parents. They want us to visit. Both of us.” “Can I call her mom?” Nisha clapped her hands together gleefully. “I promise I won’t walk off with too much of their stuff if you let me call her mom.” “You can call her whatever you want.” Tristol leaned in and planted a kiss on her lips. “Just please be on your best behavior when we visit.” “I’m always on my best behavior!” She waved her hands dismissively and smiled. “So when do they want us to visit? I stopped reading at ‘demon-blooded wench’.” “Soon?” Tristol frowned and glanced over at Nisha. “You look less worried about this than I am. Actually, you look excited.” “I never had parents that I knew.” She ruffled Tristol’s hair and fussed with his vulpine ears. “So I’m sort of excited to adopt them. Plus, if you’re all super worried, we can bring along the others. Your mom is less likely to overreact if we bring other people.” “I suppose that we can do that.” He leaned in and gave her another kiss which she happily returned. One kiss of course begat another, which begat another in a long lineage of pecks and snogs. Five minutes of overly cutesy affection later, they realized that customers were staring at them. Tristol tried to look professional and Nisha of course waved at the ones still staring. More conversation about the forthcoming trip to Halruaa followed, with the logistics of it all, a primer on Halruaan customs and social expectations being the heart of the matter. Nisha paid rapt attention to Tristol’s explanations of each and every item, but she took notice as he yawned several times. Eventually she put a finger on his nose and stopped him. “You’re still not sleeping well.” Nisha poked her boyfriend in the ribs. “Talk to me.” “I’m still having the creepy howler dreams.” He frowned and his ears folded back. “I’ve found some references to similar things though, all linked to Pandemonium. I might be on to something.” “Maybe your folks can help?” Nisha poked the letter with her tail. “Technically your mom and dad are archmages or pretty close to it.” “Oh no. No no no no.” Tristol shook his head. “The last thing I need is for them to think that I’m not competent or that you’ve gotten me cursed or into trouble that we can’t handle ourselves. I’m going to handle this and not breathe a word of it to them.” “Keep me up to speed.” Nisha leaned in and put her head on his shoulder. “I’ll help in any way that I can you know.” “You’re sweet.” Tristol smiled warmly and curled his tail around hers. “I don’t care what my mother says or thinks about you. You mean more to me than her expectations.” Nisha kissed his nose, “So speaking of familial wants and social expectations, should we tell them about our plans?” “My parents? Or the others?” Tristol glanced across the room, noting Florian, Toras, and Fyrehowl in residence. “Either or both.” Nisha shrugged and polished off the last of Tristol’s ale. “Eventually they’ll have to know I suppose. I can’t wait to see the looks on their faces.” “Not yet. I’d like to see how they react to you first and then we can tell them and the others as well.” Tristol kissed her nose. “Let’s make it a surprise.” [center]****[/center] While the far too adorable tiefling and aasimar conspired in their corner of the Portal Jammer’s main room, Florian sat with a scotch in one hand and her holy symbol in the other, worried sick about the floor suddenly vanishing beneath her. Toras watched her attempt to stay calm, and without telling her a thing, he sat by himself with pen and ink, writing an elaborate ‘I am so very sorry’ letter to a specific fiend who in his opinion deserved nothing less than a hip check over the side of Sigil’s ring. Still, as much as he despised writing the note, it needed to be done; assuming of course that the ‘loth was somehow behind the attempted assassination. ‘Honored Shemeska…’ Toras scratched out a line in his draft and took a sip of ale. ‘Supreme *sshole Shemeska…’ No. ‘Biggest b*tch wearing last year’s fashions…’ Absolutely not. ‘Queen of the Crosstrade…’ That’s one way to a portal opening under you as well. ‘I can’t wait until I can stab you in the throat you stupid c*nt yugoloth…’ Toras smiled smugly and scratched out the attempts. ‘Honored King of the Crosstrade…’ She was behind it, the attack on Florian, wasn’t she? She had to be. Assuming she was, would she do more than she already had? What else might she do to make their lives miserable? Would appealing to her ego be enough? [center]****[/center] As all of that occurred on the first floor of the Portal Jammer, Shemeska’s former -and now wholly liberated- plaything ascended the stairs with a yawn. Desiring nothing beyond a nap, the bladesinger walked from the landing down the hallway and towards his room at the end of the corridor. He passed Fyrehowl’s room, then Florian’s, then Nisha’s room. “Well damn…” He paused and stared into the Xaositect’s room through the open door. The room was completely empty except for a note pinned to the door. ‘This room now filled with invisible traps and an equally invisible shrine to the Slaadi Lords. Nisha and her stuffs have now relocated to the room of the most adorable mage in Sigil. <3’ Clueless laughed for a moment and continued down the hallway, smiling at how well Nisha and Tristol were moving along in their relationship. The thought of invisible traps and a shrine to the Slaad lords caused him a moment of mental pause to consider if Nisha was simply being random or if she’d actually done what she’d written down. He would have gone back to her now empty former room to look at any traces of magic to confirm it all, but he never had the chance. Bound to Clueless’s belt, Cilret Leobtav’s dagger erupted with a ghostly radiance and tore itself free, lurching under its own power to lodge itself blade first into the door to the bladesinger’s left. The room was one of the empty rooms that they’d never used, and most of its interior was filled with support beams for the spelljamming ship lodged into the Jammer’s superstructure. “What the f*cking f*ck?!” Clueless caught himself on the doorframe as the dagger tore itself free. His eyes were wide as the blade rattled, worming itself into the wood another inch as he watched. Each time a majority of the blade’s mass passed the plane of the closed and sealed door, the doorframe flickered with the cold light of an opening and then closing portal. Slowly, Clueless reached down to his belt to grab the sending stone he carried. Tapping it, he sent the following telepathic message to each of the others, “Get upstairs. Now.” [center]****[/center] Ice sparkled amidst the ashes that covered the ground four inches deep, providing a soft crunching noise to any movements, and a percussive refrain to the chorus of whispers that filled the air with a harrowing susurrus. A moment of silence and you could hear the voices calling out for mercy and begging for death. The scratch of a pen and a rasping, phlegmatic cough broke the moment of silence. “Whisper all you like misbegotten wretches, your fate was set the moment this reality sprang into being, even if technically, the exegesis of it all hasn’t even happened yet. Funny…” The chorus of voices whispered back, and in the chaos of their pleading, the solitary figure sitting at the heart of the Vale of Frozen Ashes atop the broken foundation stones of a once grandiose cathedral took note of it all. Nothing was missed: not a word, not a note of inflection, not the nature of the creature pleading in agony, nothing. Every piece of information, every piece of data was written down and considered in a chronicle of pointless, unceasing agony. “Oh yes of course, the celestials may scream the most,” The pen scratched with a fury that seemed to mock the concept of discrete moments of time, somehow recording everything in the pages of the massive book perched on its owner’s near skeletal knees. “But oh you the fiends, you my children, your agonies comprise the majority of my work. Music to while away the time before your doom comes once again. I would smile, but alas, I feel nothing except through you. Suffer beautiful ones and know that I at least am not the cause. I never am.” The creature spread its arms, stretching with the sound of creaking, popping joints as it abruptly doubled over in a fit of coughing. When the paroxysm finally ended, its feet and the ashes before it were flashed red with blood that boiled and curdled as it touched the ashes, transforming the soot of dead outsiders into a carpet of wriggling things gasping and clawing at the ashes and one another in a transient mockery of life. The cursed form of spontaneous generation lasted only a moment before the blood evaporated, subsumed back into the substance of not Gehenna, but the Waste, leaving the misbegotten things to die. A subtle current of change rippled through the air. A tenuous moment of interplay between ancient magic and planar mechanics, it would have gone unnoticed by virtually any being except for the abomination that sat there amidst the ashes. “The Lady comes knocking…” The being continued its chronicle as hundreds of feet away a portal to Sigil flickered into existence. “Doors, portals, and pathways: bladed and blind. The Clock ticks oh Serene one, even for you.” Sensing the blood of mortals stepping into the Vale, the roving packs of phiuls shrieked and gathered. The pen continued to write with no concern at all, though its owner turned and glanced in the direction of the portal, curious to see who it would deposit into a piece of the Waste torn free from its moorings and hurled into the depths of Gehenna. “Welcome our guests won’t you?” The elder thing turned to glance at the frozen, dead but undying face of a carbonized solar. “Whisper your words of warning, because I certainly won’t. But of course remember, all of this has been foretold. All of this is happening exactly as we have seen, even this now.” It grinned a skeletal smile, extending a grey and mucous coated tongue to wet a finger and turn its book to a new page. “Another sign manifests itself and the Clock ticks towards midnight. It cannot be stopped.” The distant light of the open portal glimmered in its dull, dead eyes and Sarkithel fek Parthis smiled. [center]****[/center] [/QUOTE]
Insert quotes…
Verification
Post reply
Community
Playing the Game
Story Hour
Shemeska's Planescape Storyhour - (Updated 14February2024)
Top