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Shemeska's Planescape Storyhour - (Updated 14February2024)
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<blockquote data-quote="Shemeska" data-source="post: 8187732" data-attributes="member: 11697"><p>“His price?” Toras whispered to the others with suspicion, with Clueless and Fyrehowl nodding angrily. The Lie Weaver had spoken nothing about any price, only that they would find answers to Tristol’s questions where they now stood.</p><p></p><p>Softly snickering at the thoughts passing between his guests, the baernaloth tilted its head and sniffed at the air, then turning to glance sightlessly at each of them before slowly taking several short, shuffling steps in the group’s direction. One step, two steps, and suddenly the space between them seemed to fold inwards on itself contracting the distance and the ur-fiend loomed over them.</p><p></p><p>Fyrehowl whimpered at the creature’s stench, feeling sick to her stomach in its presence, Toras likewise felt nauseated as his own half-celestial nature rebelled at the proximity, and most strikingly as Florian’s fingers clasped reassuringly about her holy symbol of Tempus, the metal was burning hot to the touch. They’d had similar reactions when in the presence of the Lie Weaver, and in the presence of others of their ilk, but those times had been on planes far removed from the source of the baernaloths’ power, and in their current locale in a demiplane lodged at the heart of the Demiplane of Time that should have been even more so, yet it wasn’t.</p><p></p><p>“This place isn’t a demiplane,” Tristol whispered with sudden realization, his eyes widening in abject worry, “Not a true one. It’s a piece of the Waste torn off and carried across the planes to here. We’re in its native plane…”</p><p></p><p>“Your aasimar whelp of a wizard is a sharp one. Indeed you are.” Smiling at their discomfort, the blind horror hunched over, lowering itself to their stature and inclining its vaguely goat-like head.</p><p></p><p>“What are you doing?” Toras objected first, taking a sudden step back as the proto-fiend continued to grow closer.</p><p></p><p>The Gloom Father’s head jerked around at the half-celestial’s voice and it turned itself to blindly examine the source of the objection. It paused inches from Toras and sniffed before abruptly seizing him by the shoulder and licking up the side of his face. Toras shouted and struggled effortlessly before it threw him down to the floor like a discarded rag doll and a malevolent chuckle echoed through the fighter’s mind.</p><p></p><p>The others watched as one of the strongest men they’d ever known was manhandled by the huge yet spindly baernaloth. Literally ensconced in a place of its own creation, crafted from the substance of its native plane, there was precious little that they could do to fight the creature if it came to that.</p><p></p><p>“I’m getting to know my guests.” Harishek ap Thulkesh sneered in Toras’s direction as the half-celestial got up from the floor, “Unless you would prefer that I rip your memories from your mind before butchering and devouring you as another method before I wind back the clock of time and return you to some weak semblance of your existence moments prior? Mortals typically object to this, not that I care, but I am ever so busy and I would not wish to be overly distracted at the moment.”</p><p></p><p>Toras glared at the fiend as he stood up and watched it similarly examine the others by pawing, feeling, smelling, and looking into their minds without so much as a struggle. Tristol in particular felt his own mental protections buckle and rupture in the space of heartbeat when the fiend’s rancid breath washed over his face.</p><p></p><p>Each of them saw something different as they watched the baernaloth progress in its circuit of examining the group. Some simply saw it poke, prod, and taste, while others saw at least one of their companions touched, only to have every wound they’d ever experienced erupt in a shower of gore before instantly flashing back to a second before, time and probability warped to prevent that possible future from occurring.</p><p></p><p>So it went until the baernaloth came to Tristol and it stopped, the wizard suddenly and without his own agency suddenly limned in a halo of Mystra’s divine silverfire.</p><p></p><p>“A thousand times we stand here in this fractional moment, iterations upon iterations in which I snuff the spark of divinity within your blood, forcibly. You survive none of them.” The baernaloth hissed before seeming to look deep not into Tristol's eyes but past them, “You know how this has ended before. Ask yourself, here in this place, do you love your servitor?”</p><p></p><p>The fiend wasn’t speaking to Tristol, and after a momentary pause, the silverfire retreated and went quiescent in his blood. A divinity blinked.</p><p></p><p>Harishek then lifted the wizard in one hand, claws tracing the aasimar’s face. Shivering in fear at what had just occurred, he stared at his own horrified face reflected back at him in the fiend’s milky white, opaque eyes.</p><p></p><p>“I know your question wizard, but these things have power in how they are done. Ask. Verbally and of your own volition, desperate as it must surely be to find you here listening the promises of my Brother.” Teeth gleamed, jagged and cracked, as Harishek held Tristol dangling in the air, one hand gripped about the top of his head, holding him aloft a half dozen feet off of the floor.</p><p></p><p>Tristol’s voice quivered, “I need to know about the Oblivion Compass. The…”</p><p></p><p>The fiend cut him off, “I am aware of what it is, considering that I designed half of the inner guts of the device along with He that designed the other half and constructed it all, The Architect.”</p><p></p><p>Tristol closed his eyes, whispering a prayer to his goddess and then continued, opening his eyes and staring at the fiend with as much courage as he could muster in the moment, “I need to know how to read it and how it pertains to Vor…”</p><p></p><p>Harishek put a claw to Tristol’s lips, “No need to encourage that one to hear us. Names have power. Especially here.”</p><p></p><p>“… and how it pertains to the Oinoloth’s plans so that we can stop him.” Tristol concluded, omitting the Ebon’s name, his question now formally asked.</p><p></p><p>A knowing smirk on its face, the baernaloth released the wizard and dropped him to the floor where Nisha caught him and put him back on his feet.</p><p></p><p>“Thank you.” Tristol hugged the tiefling, not saying that when he’d fallen, his magic to slow his fall had failed. The baernaloth could have had them dancing like puppets on its marionette strings had it so desired, and on some level Tristol wasn’t sure it that wasn’t precisely what had been occurring ever since they had first visited the Lie Weaver in Torch.</p><p></p><p>Harishek turned its back to them and shuffled off, walking a short distance and then facing them again and sitting down upon the stone. Facing them with its hands folded upon its lap, the Blind Clockmaker’s spindly fingers tapping against one another in a rhythm to match the ticking of the gears.</p><p></p><p>“Yes,” The baernaloth finally said, “I can tell you how to read it and when it will strike a specific time, when it counts down to the culmination of THAT ONE’S desired plans. That is what your thoughts hold of significance at the present moment anyways… yes?”</p><p></p><p>Trying to remain standing despite the aura of spiritual filth that radiated off of the blind fiend, the six nodded warily. The Clockmaker smiled back at them, only vaguely positioning its head to grin at each of them as it clasped its hands together and stood once again.</p><p></p><p>“But, if you do not already know my name, you should since you will very shortly be performing a task for me. I have been known by many names through the eons, but most know me as Harishek Ap Thul’kesh, the Blind Clockmaker.”</p><p></p><p>“Nice to meet you! My name is Nisha!” The Xaositect quipped, a choice of words not appreciated by the fiend.</p><p></p><p>“Your names are already known to me. Remain silent.”</p><p></p><p>The baernaloth then stood and for a moment its clouded, snake-like eyes jerked towards the ether gap and it unsteadily walked towards its edge before pausing and muttering something to itself only barely heard, “…and other wretches. But you will not be silent…fool…”</p><p></p><p>The Clockmaker turned to stare down at the swirling morass of the ether gap below where an animate darkness seemed to move of its own accord, a black spiral reflected back on the milky surface of its eyes. Several minutes passed before he hissed and spat into the depths of the ether gap before turning back to his unwitting soon-to-be emissaries.</p><p></p><p>“What exactly do you want us to do for you?” Clueless asked, “Because your brother’s tasks weren’t anything that we enjoyed.”</p><p></p><p>“To say the least…” Toras grumbled.</p><p></p><p>“Nothing you do for me will be on that level.” Harishek smiled knowingly.</p><p></p><p>No. It wouldn’t.</p><p></p><p>Not in the least.</p><p></p><p>Lifting one spindly, unnaturally long arm and equally long fingers into the air the baernaloth whispered to itself a litany of words in its own native tongue and drew a single finger through the air, stirring the substance of space itself into a rapidly congealing fluid between its hands. A single moment of concentration and forming within its hands, drawn into substance from out of nothing, Harishek held a gleaming and flawless crystal vial in his wasted hand and offered it to them.</p><p></p><p>“Take it,” he said, “Pour its contents onto the wounds on the roots of Yggdrasil the World Ash where its blood drips and the great tree bleeds out into the dust of the Waste.”</p><p></p><p>Hovering in the air for one of them to take, the vial was carved into the shape of a tree with a crystal dragon curled about its base. Filled to the brim with a thick, almost syrupy liquid, it swirled with reddish, glimmering sparkles and exuded a light of its own that felt at once both a feeling of absolute unquestionable love yet chill and bitterly, sterilely cold.</p><p></p><p>Clueless took the vial and the baern spoke again, its dead, blind eyes twitching with intensity even as they wandered. “Pour it on the roots but do not allow Nidhogg or its spawn to notice your attempts or else your lives are in most all probability forfeit beneath their claws and fangs. Climb the tree and then follow the vial’s tug and pull to the first ratatosk village you find and accept what gift they give to you. The vial will know where to go, and the squirrel-folk should be expecting you. Take their gifts and return them to me and then I will give you the information you seek. One task alone. Simple and uncomplicated, unlike the progression of drudgery my sibling foisted upon you.”</p><p></p><p>“What is this in here?” Toras asked, concerned, staring at the swirling, sparkling starlight held within the vial, and even more so the wildly confusing sensations that the light gave as it washed over him.</p><p></p><p>“You expect some act of evil? You expect that it is poison? Perhaps you think that I wish you to ruin the great tree? No, I do not, and your wretched touch of the divine should tell you that I’m telling you the truth. In fact, what I will have you do might even be portrayed as an act of charity on my part.” The Clockmaker said with a grin, exposing crooked and malformed fangs, its breath like wind over the rotting remains of a hundred fresh battlefields. “My portion, my payment for a bargain struck eons ago.”</p><p></p><p>The fighter winced and turned away from the fiend’s direct gaze, which even though it might have been blind, he could feel its mind burrowing into his to paint a picture for its senses that was likely more accurate than their own, even if its sight was useless to it.</p><p></p><p>“That’s all? No hidden terms or costs to us?” Tristol asked.</p><p></p><p>“Do with the flask as I have told you and then bring back to me that which the ratatosks give you willingly in return. Do that and you will have your answer from me truthfully.” The baern said with a malign chuckle.</p><p></p><p>Toras nodded: inexplicably the fiend father was telling the truth.</p><p></p><p>“I am not my brother the Lie Weaver, painting you a pretty image with falsehoods and half-truths. I am honest in this and will give you what you purchase with your deeds and your acts on my behalf. But do not fail me,” The Clockmaker stressed the last statement as it turned away from them, its voice taking a darker tone, “For the vial would find its way back to me and I would find others to do my tasks, and my retribution would be swift and horrific. You are worthless to me outside of this task, and you have seen my creations elsewhere and what I have done to those that I cherish. What would I do then to you? Wretched husks of meat and bone wrapped around souls that come to dot the planes like mewling little vermin, impure…”</p><p></p><p>But the baern was talking to itself by that point, turned away from the receding footsteps of his pawns. He couldn’t see them leaving, but he heard them clearly and saw their thoughts as well, as they removed themselves from his presence, uniformly disgusted by the experience.</p><p></p><p>Harishek pondered for a time after they had gone just how many of them would return to him looking for their answers? How many of them would sully their values to gain his promised answers? Just how would their thoughts differ at that time compared to their expectations currently?</p><p></p><p>The baernaloth smiled.</p><p></p><p></p><p style="text-align: center">***</p><p></p><p></p><p>Deep in a cavern deep below the surface of Dubai’s Obscure Woe at the edges of the blood marsh on the outskirts of the gatetown of Torch, keen ears and keener eyes observed the events in their sibling’s domain with delight and hidden knowledge.</p><p></p><p>“Everything continues as we have foreseen.” Eyes gleaming in the darkness, Daru ib Shamiq smiled.</p><p></p><p>Illuminated only by the Lie Weaver’s glowing eyes, Tellura Ibn Shartalan sat with a cherubic smile upon her face, her shadow swallowed up by the surrounding darkness yet its eyes and mouth visible, darker against the darkness. Her shepherd’s staff lay upon the ground, replaced for the moment in her hands with a crude doll wrought of sticks, rags, and the skull of a ratatosk.</p><p></p><p>“Everything.”</p><p></p><p></p><p style="text-align: center">****</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Shemeska, post: 8187732, member: 11697"] “His price?” Toras whispered to the others with suspicion, with Clueless and Fyrehowl nodding angrily. The Lie Weaver had spoken nothing about any price, only that they would find answers to Tristol’s questions where they now stood. Softly snickering at the thoughts passing between his guests, the baernaloth tilted its head and sniffed at the air, then turning to glance sightlessly at each of them before slowly taking several short, shuffling steps in the group’s direction. One step, two steps, and suddenly the space between them seemed to fold inwards on itself contracting the distance and the ur-fiend loomed over them. Fyrehowl whimpered at the creature’s stench, feeling sick to her stomach in its presence, Toras likewise felt nauseated as his own half-celestial nature rebelled at the proximity, and most strikingly as Florian’s fingers clasped reassuringly about her holy symbol of Tempus, the metal was burning hot to the touch. They’d had similar reactions when in the presence of the Lie Weaver, and in the presence of others of their ilk, but those times had been on planes far removed from the source of the baernaloths’ power, and in their current locale in a demiplane lodged at the heart of the Demiplane of Time that should have been even more so, yet it wasn’t. “This place isn’t a demiplane,” Tristol whispered with sudden realization, his eyes widening in abject worry, “Not a true one. It’s a piece of the Waste torn off and carried across the planes to here. We’re in its native plane…” “Your aasimar whelp of a wizard is a sharp one. Indeed you are.” Smiling at their discomfort, the blind horror hunched over, lowering itself to their stature and inclining its vaguely goat-like head. “What are you doing?” Toras objected first, taking a sudden step back as the proto-fiend continued to grow closer. The Gloom Father’s head jerked around at the half-celestial’s voice and it turned itself to blindly examine the source of the objection. It paused inches from Toras and sniffed before abruptly seizing him by the shoulder and licking up the side of his face. Toras shouted and struggled effortlessly before it threw him down to the floor like a discarded rag doll and a malevolent chuckle echoed through the fighter’s mind. The others watched as one of the strongest men they’d ever known was manhandled by the huge yet spindly baernaloth. Literally ensconced in a place of its own creation, crafted from the substance of its native plane, there was precious little that they could do to fight the creature if it came to that. “I’m getting to know my guests.” Harishek ap Thulkesh sneered in Toras’s direction as the half-celestial got up from the floor, “Unless you would prefer that I rip your memories from your mind before butchering and devouring you as another method before I wind back the clock of time and return you to some weak semblance of your existence moments prior? Mortals typically object to this, not that I care, but I am ever so busy and I would not wish to be overly distracted at the moment.” Toras glared at the fiend as he stood up and watched it similarly examine the others by pawing, feeling, smelling, and looking into their minds without so much as a struggle. Tristol in particular felt his own mental protections buckle and rupture in the space of heartbeat when the fiend’s rancid breath washed over his face. Each of them saw something different as they watched the baernaloth progress in its circuit of examining the group. Some simply saw it poke, prod, and taste, while others saw at least one of their companions touched, only to have every wound they’d ever experienced erupt in a shower of gore before instantly flashing back to a second before, time and probability warped to prevent that possible future from occurring. So it went until the baernaloth came to Tristol and it stopped, the wizard suddenly and without his own agency suddenly limned in a halo of Mystra’s divine silverfire. “A thousand times we stand here in this fractional moment, iterations upon iterations in which I snuff the spark of divinity within your blood, forcibly. You survive none of them.” The baernaloth hissed before seeming to look deep not into Tristol's eyes but past them, “You know how this has ended before. Ask yourself, here in this place, do you love your servitor?” The fiend wasn’t speaking to Tristol, and after a momentary pause, the silverfire retreated and went quiescent in his blood. A divinity blinked. Harishek then lifted the wizard in one hand, claws tracing the aasimar’s face. Shivering in fear at what had just occurred, he stared at his own horrified face reflected back at him in the fiend’s milky white, opaque eyes. “I know your question wizard, but these things have power in how they are done. Ask. Verbally and of your own volition, desperate as it must surely be to find you here listening the promises of my Brother.” Teeth gleamed, jagged and cracked, as Harishek held Tristol dangling in the air, one hand gripped about the top of his head, holding him aloft a half dozen feet off of the floor. Tristol’s voice quivered, “I need to know about the Oblivion Compass. The…” The fiend cut him off, “I am aware of what it is, considering that I designed half of the inner guts of the device along with He that designed the other half and constructed it all, The Architect.” Tristol closed his eyes, whispering a prayer to his goddess and then continued, opening his eyes and staring at the fiend with as much courage as he could muster in the moment, “I need to know how to read it and how it pertains to Vor…” Harishek put a claw to Tristol’s lips, “No need to encourage that one to hear us. Names have power. Especially here.” “… and how it pertains to the Oinoloth’s plans so that we can stop him.” Tristol concluded, omitting the Ebon’s name, his question now formally asked. A knowing smirk on its face, the baernaloth released the wizard and dropped him to the floor where Nisha caught him and put him back on his feet. “Thank you.” Tristol hugged the tiefling, not saying that when he’d fallen, his magic to slow his fall had failed. The baernaloth could have had them dancing like puppets on its marionette strings had it so desired, and on some level Tristol wasn’t sure it that wasn’t precisely what had been occurring ever since they had first visited the Lie Weaver in Torch. Harishek turned its back to them and shuffled off, walking a short distance and then facing them again and sitting down upon the stone. Facing them with its hands folded upon its lap, the Blind Clockmaker’s spindly fingers tapping against one another in a rhythm to match the ticking of the gears. “Yes,” The baernaloth finally said, “I can tell you how to read it and when it will strike a specific time, when it counts down to the culmination of THAT ONE’S desired plans. That is what your thoughts hold of significance at the present moment anyways… yes?” Trying to remain standing despite the aura of spiritual filth that radiated off of the blind fiend, the six nodded warily. The Clockmaker smiled back at them, only vaguely positioning its head to grin at each of them as it clasped its hands together and stood once again. “But, if you do not already know my name, you should since you will very shortly be performing a task for me. I have been known by many names through the eons, but most know me as Harishek Ap Thul’kesh, the Blind Clockmaker.” “Nice to meet you! My name is Nisha!” The Xaositect quipped, a choice of words not appreciated by the fiend. “Your names are already known to me. Remain silent.” The baernaloth then stood and for a moment its clouded, snake-like eyes jerked towards the ether gap and it unsteadily walked towards its edge before pausing and muttering something to itself only barely heard, “…and other wretches. But you will not be silent…fool…” The Clockmaker turned to stare down at the swirling morass of the ether gap below where an animate darkness seemed to move of its own accord, a black spiral reflected back on the milky surface of its eyes. Several minutes passed before he hissed and spat into the depths of the ether gap before turning back to his unwitting soon-to-be emissaries. “What exactly do you want us to do for you?” Clueless asked, “Because your brother’s tasks weren’t anything that we enjoyed.” “To say the least…” Toras grumbled. “Nothing you do for me will be on that level.” Harishek smiled knowingly. No. It wouldn’t. Not in the least. Lifting one spindly, unnaturally long arm and equally long fingers into the air the baernaloth whispered to itself a litany of words in its own native tongue and drew a single finger through the air, stirring the substance of space itself into a rapidly congealing fluid between its hands. A single moment of concentration and forming within its hands, drawn into substance from out of nothing, Harishek held a gleaming and flawless crystal vial in his wasted hand and offered it to them. “Take it,” he said, “Pour its contents onto the wounds on the roots of Yggdrasil the World Ash where its blood drips and the great tree bleeds out into the dust of the Waste.” Hovering in the air for one of them to take, the vial was carved into the shape of a tree with a crystal dragon curled about its base. Filled to the brim with a thick, almost syrupy liquid, it swirled with reddish, glimmering sparkles and exuded a light of its own that felt at once both a feeling of absolute unquestionable love yet chill and bitterly, sterilely cold. Clueless took the vial and the baern spoke again, its dead, blind eyes twitching with intensity even as they wandered. “Pour it on the roots but do not allow Nidhogg or its spawn to notice your attempts or else your lives are in most all probability forfeit beneath their claws and fangs. Climb the tree and then follow the vial’s tug and pull to the first ratatosk village you find and accept what gift they give to you. The vial will know where to go, and the squirrel-folk should be expecting you. Take their gifts and return them to me and then I will give you the information you seek. One task alone. Simple and uncomplicated, unlike the progression of drudgery my sibling foisted upon you.” “What is this in here?” Toras asked, concerned, staring at the swirling, sparkling starlight held within the vial, and even more so the wildly confusing sensations that the light gave as it washed over him. “You expect some act of evil? You expect that it is poison? Perhaps you think that I wish you to ruin the great tree? No, I do not, and your wretched touch of the divine should tell you that I’m telling you the truth. In fact, what I will have you do might even be portrayed as an act of charity on my part.” The Clockmaker said with a grin, exposing crooked and malformed fangs, its breath like wind over the rotting remains of a hundred fresh battlefields. “My portion, my payment for a bargain struck eons ago.” The fighter winced and turned away from the fiend’s direct gaze, which even though it might have been blind, he could feel its mind burrowing into his to paint a picture for its senses that was likely more accurate than their own, even if its sight was useless to it. “That’s all? No hidden terms or costs to us?” Tristol asked. “Do with the flask as I have told you and then bring back to me that which the ratatosks give you willingly in return. Do that and you will have your answer from me truthfully.” The baern said with a malign chuckle. Toras nodded: inexplicably the fiend father was telling the truth. “I am not my brother the Lie Weaver, painting you a pretty image with falsehoods and half-truths. I am honest in this and will give you what you purchase with your deeds and your acts on my behalf. But do not fail me,” The Clockmaker stressed the last statement as it turned away from them, its voice taking a darker tone, “For the vial would find its way back to me and I would find others to do my tasks, and my retribution would be swift and horrific. You are worthless to me outside of this task, and you have seen my creations elsewhere and what I have done to those that I cherish. What would I do then to you? Wretched husks of meat and bone wrapped around souls that come to dot the planes like mewling little vermin, impure…” But the baern was talking to itself by that point, turned away from the receding footsteps of his pawns. He couldn’t see them leaving, but he heard them clearly and saw their thoughts as well, as they removed themselves from his presence, uniformly disgusted by the experience. Harishek pondered for a time after they had gone just how many of them would return to him looking for their answers? How many of them would sully their values to gain his promised answers? Just how would their thoughts differ at that time compared to their expectations currently? The baernaloth smiled. [center]***[/center] Deep in a cavern deep below the surface of Dubai’s Obscure Woe at the edges of the blood marsh on the outskirts of the gatetown of Torch, keen ears and keener eyes observed the events in their sibling’s domain with delight and hidden knowledge. “Everything continues as we have foreseen.” Eyes gleaming in the darkness, Daru ib Shamiq smiled. Illuminated only by the Lie Weaver’s glowing eyes, Tellura Ibn Shartalan sat with a cherubic smile upon her face, her shadow swallowed up by the surrounding darkness yet its eyes and mouth visible, darker against the darkness. Her shepherd’s staff lay upon the ground, replaced for the moment in her hands with a crude doll wrought of sticks, rags, and the skull of a ratatosk. “Everything.” [center]****[/center] [/QUOTE]
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Shemeska's Planescape Storyhour - (Updated 14February2024)
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