Inconsequenti-AL
Breaks Games
I'm up to date again.... And this story hour just keeps getting better.
Thanks!
Faerie Dragon swarms.
Thanks!
Faerie Dragon swarms.
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The VOIDRUNNER'S CODEX is LIVE! Explore new worlds, fight oppressive empires, fend off fearsome aliens, and wield deadly psionics with this comprehensive boxed set expansion for 5E and A5E!
Shemeska's Planescape Storyhour (Updated 29 Jan 2014)
- Thread starter Shemeska
- Start date
Bryon_Soulweaver
First Post
That is not funny.Inconsequenti-AL said:...Faerie Dragon swarms.
Burningspear
First Post
Shemeska said:Pleasure is all mine
I'm hoping to have more sometime this weekend.
Woohoo
here's a happy face as well then when you do 
Shemeska
Adventurer
Well, calling them mercenaries was something of a misnomer. The owners of the Portal Jammer didn’t really need the jink, and they would have likely gone along with little or no pay if the request had been polite enough and their skills needed for what they considered an intriguing expedition. The whole affair was a vacation for all involved, as after staring into the eyes of an irate, unstable, and bloodthirsty archfiend on the Astral plane while atop the deific corpse of Aoskar, a dangerous trek through a plane of manifest madness seemed almost tame by comparison. Everything being relative, it was indeed shaping up to be a bit of relaxing escapism.
Still though, Doran Highsilver’s statement in the Portal Jammer’s common room did have a partial ring of applicable truth to it as well. In Toras’s own words, they were getting paid to waltz through one of the lower planes and kill whatever fiends they came across.
“Wrong bar…” Florian called out from where she sat with Tristol and Toras, reading an oversized book on Pandemonium. “I think you’re looking for the Bottle and Jug.”
She’d said that without looking up to see who had done the asking, or to see the amused smile on the elf’s face at her reply. But no matter, because Fyrehowl had already propped her legs up on another chair, effectively blocking the wizard’s path of easy exit from the bar.
Over from where he was pouring drinks, Clueless nodded to the lupinal and chuckled. “I don’t know if that was irony or not, but we’re probably the ones that you’re looking for.”
“It got your attention I suppose.” The elf said as he bowed slightly, causing Florian to blush as she looked up at him.
“One of our soon-to-be employer’s people?” Fyrehowl asked.
Doran thought about that for a moment. “I suppose you could say that. I’m one of Leobtav’s colleagues in the Institute.”
Nisha leaned in and whispered into Tristol’s ear, “I think he’s our boss.”
“I think the professor mentioned you actually.” Tristol said as he stood up to shake the other wizard’s hand. “Doran?”
“Ah good.” The elf said, happily shaking Tristol’s hand. “I was hoping that Cilret would at least mention some of the other people going along on the expedition, not the least those that you’d be working with, or directly assisting.”
“That would be a big no.” Nisha said before briefly sticking out her tongue.
Doran shrugged. “But you probably got an hour’s lecture on Pandemonium, a lecture on Gautish that amounted to “we don’t know very much”, and some other bits of history.”
“Oh did we ever.” Nisha deadpanned again. “Mr. Lawfulpants likes to talk.”
Tristol turned about and gave Nisha a look.
“But his familiar is adorable.” She said contritely. “I rather like Ficklebarb.”
“He’s something alright.” Doran replied. His familiar cawed out in agreement, and something said that the bird had been chased more than once by Leobtav’s little “red terror”.
“So in any event,” Clueless asked. “I take it you’re here to take us to meet up with the rest of the group? We didn’t expect you for another hour or two.”
He nodded. “I rather suspected that while you probably had a picture perfect rundown on the place and its history, you wouldn’t get much in terms of the human element.”
Clueless grinned and walked out from behind the bar with a glass of wine for their employer. “Then take a seat and feel free to give us the rundown before we actually meet up with everyone.”
Highsilver nodded and thanked him for the wine. He swirled it once, sniffed at it, and apparently having decided its worth, took an approving sip.
“On the expedition we’ll have thirty five scholars of various disciplines, but they’ll be working with Leobtav and me for the most part, so you needn’t really worry about them in that capacity. Outside of them we’ll have a few shy of a dozen porters and a pair of cooks tagging along. Most all of them are pretty green however; in fact only fifteen of them have ever been beyond the Outlands. In theory they know exactly what they’ll be up against, but they don’t have any practical experience. Watching out for them, and anything that might try to eat them is what you’ll be here for.”
“So who else is helping us out in that regard?” Toras asked.
“Outside of yourselves, we’ve hired two others, and I have a third person tagging along because she wanted to and I wasn’t going to tell her otherwise.” Doran paused and sipped at his wine again. “The first is Settys al Khylian, a cleric and paladin of Thoth.”
“Militant scribes. Spooky.” Nisha whispered. “Overdue fines for Thoth’s Library must be stiff…”
Tristol leaned in and put his mouth on her shoulder, poking his teeth in but not actually biting. He said something muffled into her arm and she promptly pantomimed zipping her lips shut.
“Remind me never to keep a book late from a library.” Toras said, thinking the same thing Nisha had.
Doran chuckled. “We needed clerical magic, and he’s a bit more martially adept than your typical priest. All said, that’s probably a wise idea in Pandemonium, and as far as I know, he’s not pushy about religion or theology, so you don’t have anything to worry about there.”
“That’s good to know.” Florian said. “I take it I’ll be working with him in some capacity?”
“That’s what we’d planned.” Doran answered. “When we’re moving as a group, we’re planning on having the fighters at front, the scholars, sages and wizards in the middle, and likely the clerics and another fighter or two at the rear.”
It made tactical sense at least, assuming everyone got along, especially in the claustrophobic atmosphere of Pandemonium’s tunnels and caverns, in the darkness, nearly deafened by the wind.
“So what about the other two?” Clueless asked.
“The next person is Frollis Terpense. He’s something of a fighter, something of a rogue, and I’ll probably have him running point or scouting ahead whenever we’re moving.” Doran explained and then pointed to Clueless and Fyrehowl. “I’ll probably have him pair up with one of you.”
“Because we’ve got similar styles and capabilities?” Fyrehowl asked.
Clueless narrowed his eyes. “Or because you don’t trust him?”
“Yes.” Doran answered, unusually blunt.
That brought some raised eyebrows and perked ears. The elf paused and sipped his wine again, then downed the remainder of the glass.
“The wine is quite good.” He said, breaking from his previous train of thought. “Thank you.”
Florian looked at him pointedly. “Should we be worried, or keep a watch on this guy or something?”
“We’re going to be in Pandemonium.” Fyrehowl stated. “So why did you hire someone you aren’t sure you can trust or not?”
Doran held up his hands. “Our budget doesn’t allow us to be selective like we were hiring for a king’s guard. We have to compromise between talent and personality sometimes.”
“My personality stinks?” Nisha asked as her tail drooped.
“No no.” Doran backpedaled. “I didn’t say that at all.”
“Then I’m incompetent?” The tiefling slunk down in her chair and the elf closed his eyes and took a deep breath.
Xaositects were… well… they were either too much fun, or a nightmare to associate with. At least one person in his employ wasn’t going to have to worry about going mad in the winds, probably because the winds might offer an improvement.
“You’re skilled and everyone likes you, especially me.” Tristol said. “Now let him finish or I will bite you.”
“So you were saying now?” Clueless prompted, handing the elf the remainder of the bottle.
“His past is a blank spot for the most part, though he has some rather extensive yet seemingly unofficial links with the church of Assuran.”
“A follower of Hoar?” Florian asked. Hoar was the Torillian name of Assuran of the Babylonian pantheon, a god of justice and retribution.
“Apparently.” Doran said. “But he was also a member in good standing with one of Torch’s thieves’ guilds, and that information came to me by way of a priestess of Sung-Chiang who from her tone was respectful of him, but in the way of a very skilled craftsman talking about a competitor.”
Fyrehowl tilted her head in something of curiosity and confusion.
“Make of that what you will.” Doran said. “But you’ll meet him soon enough and you can make your judgment then. I’m not asking you to be biased against him -that might be truly counterproductive if he’s on the straight and narrow- but do keep your eyes on him.”
A few contemplative moments passed before the wizard finally took up the third member of his collection of employees, and his description of her brought even more of a reaction than Frollis had.
“A bloody freaking bard?!”
Doran nodded and held up his hands again. “I know. I know. Music doesn’t matter if you’re deaf, have your ears plugged to avoid going deaf, or if the wind is howling in your ears to the point where you couldn’t hear her if she was singing an aria right next to you. Still, she was insistent upon coming with us, and the local area around the Crag makes her more useful than you’d think. Plus, being from Ysgard, she’s a bit more attuned to the level of ambient chaos that Pandemonium will have, for what it’s worth. She’ll be comfortable with that at least, if not the evil tainting the plane.”
Fyrehowl nodded. “We’ve been through worse.”
“So why would a bard be useful?” Toras asked.
“Because much of the Crag is relatively sheltered from the wind around its base.” Doran explained. “It’s in a bit of a natural depression, and only about halfway up towards the summit are you exposed to the normal torrents of wind. It’s not placid by any means below that point, but her magic won’t be automatically drowned out and useless.”
That made some sense, and even made the trip sound marginally less dangerous, barring hungry howler packs and ever-hungrier tanar’ri.
“But enough about the others.” Doran said, pushing his glass forward to decline any further fills. “Lets go over what you’ve got and what you’ll need.”
Having said that, the wizard ran through a mental checklist of things to badger them about. It might be tacky, it might be intrusive and controlling –which was the last thing he wanted to be, and pretty alien to his personality- but it was a necessary evil given where he was taking them. The worst thing in the world would be to have them arrive in the Howling Plane and only during a scrape with a pack of tanar’ri realize that they’d left spell components, or a spellbook, or a divine focus, or their favorite dagger back in Sigil. Better to be repetitive now than handicapped later.
“Have your spellbooks that you want to bring along?”
Tristol nodded and Nisha held up a satchel full of traveling tomes.
Doran glanced at a mechanical timepiece on the wall. “Well, we have about an hour before we’re meeting the rest of the group. That should give us plenty of time to get to the portal.”
“Where’s the portal that we’re meeting them at?” Tristol asked.
“Good question.” Doran said. “But I’d rather show you than tell you. It’s a one-way portal inside Sigil that’ll place us roughly 25 miles from the Crag.”
“Humor me, I’m curious.” Tristol asked. “I hadn’t heard of that one before, especially being so close to a noted landmark on its connecting plane.”
Doran hesitated. “Again, I’d rather show you than tell you.”
Fyrehowl looked at him skeptically. “Why the evasiveness?”
The elf waved his hands. “Because it took more than a wee bit of jink to tease that portal and its key out of Lissandra and her ilk. They have access to a commodity in the knowledge they hoard, and they know how much it’s worth. Plus, beyond the raw cost, they made a condition of our bargain being that I’d restrict knowledge and access to the location to Leobtav, one or two others on our board of directors, and myself. Expensive and they want to retain their future business with others so it’s a hassle on us, but it sure as hell beats juggling planeshifts and teleports for a group of close to forty people, or going in through Bedlam.”
Tristol, Nisha and Clueless were still curious though, and eventually Skalliska –looking a bit more visibly plump by the day- walked into the room and tried to pry it out of the elf as well. He didn’t break down however, and finally they gave up trying to find it out, figuring that they’d just break down the location from the landmarks they passed on the way there. But once they packed all of their gear and did all of their last minute checks, they came to realize just how difficult a prospect that was.
Transit to the portal was a rather roundabout affair, and by Nisha’s reckoning they probably crossed two Wards on foot, hopped at least six portals to other places inside of Sigil, and might have even left the City of Doors once. But be that as it might, when they eventually arrived at the portal’s location, they didn’t have a clue for how to easily find it again.
Overcast skies loomed overhead, a mixture of Sigil’s ubiquitous haze, some low hanging rain clouds, and a mixture of thick black smoke, either from stoves or some industrial use. They couldn’t make out any features above them on the opposite side of the ring, so they couldn’t be absolutely certain which Ward they were in, but the rather rundown yet not quite squalid appearance of the warehouses that surrounded them suggested somewhere in the Hive, Lower Ward, or the lower districts of the Marketplace Ward.
They also weren’t the first people to arrive, much to Highsilver’s consternation.
“Beaten to the punch again.” The wizard said, shaking his head wistfully before looking back at his new employees. “Stay tight, see if you can find Settys or Frollis, and I’ll be with Leobtav for a few minutes going over anything last minute. We’ll call out to everyone when we’re ready to leave.”
Doran took his leave and wandered through a milling crowd of people, probably forty of them in all, and quickly vanished into the mix.
“We’ve got our work cut out for us.” Florian lamented, looking out at the assembled scholars.
“Bingo…” Toras agreed. “We’ll be earning our pay with these folks.”
Half of the assembled sages looked like they’d just barely gotten out of a scholarly conference. Their dress wasn’t entirely appropriate, and for most of them any traveling clothes and associated gear fit for a stint in the wilderness of Cocytus looked brand new and unused, and one sage in particular who was acting cocky and talking about his recent trip to Torch of all places, still had the price tags attached to his coat and rucksack.
“Very lawful howler chow.” Nisha deadpanned. “Sorry you guys have to handle them.”
“What do you mean sorry you guys?” Tristol asked as he poked her in the belly.
“Because I have to worry about you.” She replied, grinning as she returned the poke.
Fyrehowl rolled her eyes and smiled. “Howlers are allergic to cute. You two will chase them all away from miles distant. We’ve got nothing to worry about.”
“As long as we can keep these guys from wandering, it won’t be a problem I don’t think.” Clueless said. “I’m more worried about things coming after us down there that are a bit more intelligent than howlers.”
Toras grinned and patted his hand on his sword’s grip. “I’m looking forward to it.”
In turn, Fyrehowl patted the fighter on the head.
Looking over the lot of them, not all of the scholars were as woefully fresh faced and naïve about where they were going though. A small but distinct group of them, probably ten in all, were dressed in well worn and very appropriate clothing, and their stance and expressions all spoke to their having been to the more inhospitable planes numerous times; some of them were likely veterans on the institute’s expeditions to Carceri.
“Wonder if our fellow sellswords have arrived yet.” Clueless asked, and true to form, indeed they had, either with Leobtav’s group or on their own.
Off to the other side of the scholars, hands folded gently across his lap, cradling a sword, sat their cleric of Thoth. Given the dress typical to his priesthood, and the cultures that typically held reverence for its associated pantheon, he definitely stood out. Standing rather tall –only Toras and Fyrehowl were taller- his silver ibis holy symbol hung around his neck catching the dim light a bit more brilliantly than the chain armor beneath his simple white linen vestments, complimented by a few pieces of polished and engraved plate. That combined with his khol and gold wadjet painted over his left eye and his shaved head would have been distinctive enough, but the flaming kopesh he held in his hands made him impossible to miss.
At least a few of the more awkwardly dressed scholars seemed to linger in his proximity, feeling safer either because of his capacity as a cleric of a respected and well-known deity, or purely because he seemed friendly, was on their side, and carried a flaming sword. He didn’t seem to mind, and between prayers he didn’t seem at all averse to talking with them and reassuring them about the looming descent into the lower planes. Someone of his profession and appearance was hard to miss, and he didn’t try to downplay his role at all.
Meanwhile, less a bastion of calm security, strength, and wisdom, Larill Moonshadow, the lillend bard, wandered about the crowd of scholars speaking to each and every one of them, gathering their name and trying to make each little clique of academic specialists mix with one another. Drifting a foot off of the ground, with the lower body of a gold and emerald scaled serpent, and a pair of white-feathered wings sprouting from her back, she was impossible to overlook. She dressed in little more than a length of white and gold cloth wrapped about her torso and held in place with a silver cloak-pin, and outside of a pair of flutes and a small bag hanging from a cinched cord around her neck, she carried nothing else of note. To say the least, she wasn’t going to be on the front lines, and her role was probably more than anything else going to be focused on keeping everyone happy and secure against both the effects of the winds and any mundane arguments or petty conflicts of feelings or words that might spark between various researchers.
In contrast to the cleric and the bard however, Frollis Terpense blended in to a disturbing degree. In fact it took a moment for anyone to truly notice him there, slouched as he was in the shadow of a rain barrel at the corner of one of the warehouses, and another moment to realize that he wasn't a tout in an out of the way area, a local resident, or simply some vagrant. The man was average height, average build, and once he glanced up at his newly arrived compatriots, it was easy to see that he had generically average looks as well, with no peculiar bloodline or ethnic heritage to set him out of a random crowd of Sigilians, or even a random crowd on any dozen prime material worlds or in any trade city on most of the planes.
He was dressed in a cloak, worn boots, and what Tristol could tell in a moment was a suit of heavily glimmered and silenced leather armor. His weapons weren’t visible, but upon a closer look and a bit of concentration with a spell, two distinct auras stood out from their scabbards obscured by his back and his cloak, but either by some property of their own, or that of their sheathes, it wasn’t clear just how they were enchanted.
Either feeling watched, or having earlier noticed them and finally wanting to acknowledge them all, Frollis looked up and gave them an upwards jerk of his head in greeting, though without anything verbal before he yawned and settled back into his slouch. Say what you would about him, but the man blended in to the point that most people wouldn’t give him a second glance, and nor would they be prepared if he decided to put a knife at their back.
“I think everyone is here.” Ficklebarb said from atop a pile of crates, looking down and grinning as he saw his distorted reflection in his master’s bald spot.
Professor Leobtav nodded and went through his list while Doran did the same, checking that each person who was there was in fact supposed to be there, and that everyone on the list was present and accounted for. It would do them no good to leave a linguist, or a porter carrying some vital portion of their supplies, standing alone in a Sigilian back alley while they were already off in Pandemonium.
“Everyone!” The professor called out, mustering perhaps the most authoritative voice –in a social context as opposed to an academic one- that most anyone there had ever heard him produce.
“We need everyone’s attention!” Doran Highsilver called out, just as loudly as his compatriot had, echoed by a loud whistle and flutter of wings from his familiar Mellisan.
Just as they’d hoped, everyone looked up and the low dim of conversation trailed away into nothing. Even Frollis had his attention focused on both of their mutual employers, Leobtav and Highsilver, but only Clueless and Fyrehowl noticed that he was suddenly standing up; they hadn’t seen him move from his slouched position. Either he’d been that quick that they hadn’t noticed, he’d never been sitting there at the corner, or he was a more complicated person than they might have suspected.
Not to be left out, Ficklebarb sat up on his haunches and called out as best he could, “Almost time to leave!”
Leobtav took the momentary attention placed on his familiar to quickly remove and wipe off the lenses of his thin, rounded spectacles. Once back on the bridge of his nose again, he looked out at the suddenly less blurry crowd and smiled.
“You’ve all studied up on where we’ll be going.” He began, addressing the scholars more so than the others. “Remember to keep track of where you are in relation to the rest of each of your groups, and don’t wander off. Keep your ears plugged in case the wind increases to the point where it becomes a danger, and hopefully we won’t encounter any problems on the way from the other end of the portal till we reach the Crag.
Once we get there we’ll be setting up camp, and some of our other people will be scouting the area to make sure that we won’t run across anything dangerous before we start exploring the various caves and other potential locations that I’ve marked on the maps that each of your team leaders have been given.”
“Lawfulpants is right.” Nisha muttered as she lost track of his words and let her mind wander off to trying to see pictures formed by the cracks in the cobblestones beneath her hooves.
“He’s not always boring.” Ficklebarb said to her, having flown over and landed on a horizontal beam of an empty lamppost next to her. “I like him. You just need to get to know him and he’s not all that bad of a guy.”
Nisha looked up at the pseudodragon along with Clueless and Tristol.
“A little dry, but he’s only like that when he’s on something academic. When he doesn’t have his nose buried in a book he can be pretty fun. I know you’re a Xaositect and all, but give him a chance.”
The pseudodragon smiled, and having so recently handed over Amberblue to his native plane, how could she or the others really resist taking the familiar’s advice to heart? Well, at least for a day maybe. After that, cute familiar or not, all bets were off.
Meanwhile the professor had finished and Doran had made his own speech, at which point they both took out what might have been portal keys, or dummy portal keys if the actual key wasn’t physical, and pushed them through the bound space formed by a faded Harry Hatchis mural advertisement on the warehouse wall behind them.
Swirling, gleaming silver, and filled with a faint whispering, the way into Pandemonium was open.
Darkness and screaming winds: those were Pandemonium’s gifts to any who walked its unhallowed tunnels. Intermittent and fickle, befitting the Chaos that pervaded its every ancient bone, the wind, be it a gentle breeze whispering deluded promises, or hurricane force gales screaming with the rage of mad, blind god entombed and left to die in the depths, it carried the Howling Plane’s second gift: madness.
Carrying with it an oppressive, punishing weight that the rock of the Elemental Plane of Earth lacked, while simultaneously eschewing the solidity and firmness espoused by that inner plane, Pandemonium’s tunnels were less caverns suspended in the stone than they were pockets of infection worming their way through diseased flesh. Unlike elemental earth, the snarling passages ran madcap through their environment, presenting a labyrinthine warren filled with dangers that seemed intentionally placed, and the caves within the stone of the elemental plane didn’t appear to have been carved out by the feverish, desperate motions of clawed hands, like a god -buried alive- holding its breath and rending at its prison, hoping to reach the light before it suffocated in the lightless depths.
The rocks were slippery, and in between the ebb and pulse of the winds, the momentary silence was punctuated by a ubiquitous trickle and drip of water precipitating upon the stone or leaking through tiny fissures and cracks like the weeping emphysema of a gasping titan. It went without saying of course, that no small portion of that water ultimately came from the subtle, insipid percolation of the Styx, though each drop might have taken a thousand years to penetrate from layer to layer, ultimately pooling at the feet of the explorers who now crowded together for safety, huddled by the dozens around what feeble, flickering light they managed to hold steady against both gloom and gale.
I want a head count of everyone here. Came Doran’s telepathic instruction, piercing the darkness to reassure and focus his and Leobtav’s pack of scholars. Everyone is going to call back their names to me, and we’ll be repeating this every fifteen minutes. If at any point before we reach the Crag we end up missing anyone’s name, we’ll be stopping and not going any further till they catch up with us or else we find where they went.
The wizard paused and both he and the Professor each conjured another globe of artificial sunlight. The illumination was altogether too little, and the warped, unsteady lay of the passage made any movement throw dozens of shadows to dance across what might have otherwise been a solid field of light pushing back the darkness. Still though, the glow was a beacon for each of the group’s members to stay focused upon as they prepared for the miles of hiking that lay between them and Howler’s Crag.
Are we clear on that?
“Perfectly…” Frollis said, squinting against the mage’s illumination as he slipped back into the shadows at the edge of the party, partially blending in and almost merging with them in the process if anyone had been paying him any attention, but of course, it might have just been a trick of the light. “And in the meantime, you go right ahead and make yourself a target for every howler pack for miles around with that light.”
Oddly enough though, while there were four separate packs of howlers lairing in the tunnels leading towards the Crag, none of them harried the group in the slightest beyond trailing them for a few miles before ultimately breaking off their half-hearted pursuit twenty miles from the base of Howlers Crag. They might have thought themselves lucky, but the howlers were keeping their distance intentionally. Like hyenas kept at bay by the presence of a pack of lions at the edge of a heard of antelope on some prime material savanna, the howlers kept their distance because they themselves were disturbed by the presence of something else entirely, something unnatural even in the hellish labyrinth of Cocytus. Something lurked in the darkness, and that something terrified the native hunters and baying scavengers alike.
It sat in the darkness, hunched atop the barren summit of the Crag, hands pressed against the rock, head lifted into the full force of the wind, eyes closed, teeth bared.
“Wherever you are, wherever you have fled, know that this is only a temporary respite.”
Of course, those words would never reach their intended recipients. The legend that had built itself around the Crag was simply that, a legend with no grounding in fact, though it certainly fit the tone of the locale, being the gravesite of a nameless power known only in ages afterwards as the Phoenix.
But that past held nothing of especial concern to the being that perched atop that cairn built of weathered godbones. The Wanderer had crouched atop the corpses of other gods before, and he’d sit atop more of them in the ages to come if all went according to his kindred’s vision of what was to be. Not the past, but the path of the future was his concern there at the present moment as he opened his eyes and lit the darkness with a burning emerald radiance streaming from those unholy orbs. A mile away, a pack of howlers whined and winced at the light, and at the presence of the Gloom Father as it perverted the darkness to something altogether more malign than the shadows of Pandemonium were wont to be.
“This is where you’re coming. But why?” He questioned. “What does this place hold for you?”
Unless of course the place was entirely meaningless. Perhaps it wasn’t the place, but rather the people who would gather there. Perhaps none of it held meaning at all, but was only a single event in a chain of events that would themselves give rise to a greater, emergent and meaningful whole in the future that was to be.
The Wanderer snarled. It was enough that his great pursuit had been sidetracked momentarily, but the dangerous enigma that had led him away was yielding no answers, and Pandemonium itself was little comfort to the baernaloth, situated as it was on the very periphery of the hegemony of universal Evil, the shallows of his native lightless sea lapping at foreign shores. The plane’s essence was yet too polluted by Chaos, and his power was diluted accordingly. Admittedly, he was likely still the single most powerful being present upon the plane, but he was removed from his element, far from the depths of his place of power, metaphysically speaking.
“You already know our tongue. You already know the tongue of the first celestials. Chaos and Law are meaningless, though you’d find them here as well. The mortal tongues are nothing, so why here? The legend of the Crag is hollow. What draws your presence here?”
The wind screamed, carrying with it his frustration, and a taunting harbinger of what would come next in moments, and the screams that would follow in the days to come.
Somewhere, a few dozen miles away at most, a portal opened and Severeth Na’Halastrian was immediately aware of it. Oh, to be certain, normally his senses would have noticed not just the portal as it opened, but he would have known instantly where it was coming from, what the portal key had been, and who and what was passing through it. Saturated by Chaos as it was, Pandemonium yet nominally fell into some synchronicity with the true Lower Planes.
But that was not what the Wanderer felt. He felt pain. He felt worry. He felt detachment. His godlike senses dulled and what amounted to a blizzard of metaphysical static blanketed the place like windblown snow.
The sensation, as jarring as it was, it was not a new sensation upon his mind. He’d felt it before, staring at him from the depths of the Clockwork Gap while the winds of the Demiplane of Time howled just as mockingly as those screaming now in Pandemonium.
The Architect and the Clockmaker had miscalculated.
Still though, Doran Highsilver’s statement in the Portal Jammer’s common room did have a partial ring of applicable truth to it as well. In Toras’s own words, they were getting paid to waltz through one of the lower planes and kill whatever fiends they came across.
“Wrong bar…” Florian called out from where she sat with Tristol and Toras, reading an oversized book on Pandemonium. “I think you’re looking for the Bottle and Jug.”
She’d said that without looking up to see who had done the asking, or to see the amused smile on the elf’s face at her reply. But no matter, because Fyrehowl had already propped her legs up on another chair, effectively blocking the wizard’s path of easy exit from the bar.
Over from where he was pouring drinks, Clueless nodded to the lupinal and chuckled. “I don’t know if that was irony or not, but we’re probably the ones that you’re looking for.”
“It got your attention I suppose.” The elf said as he bowed slightly, causing Florian to blush as she looked up at him.
“One of our soon-to-be employer’s people?” Fyrehowl asked.
Doran thought about that for a moment. “I suppose you could say that. I’m one of Leobtav’s colleagues in the Institute.”
Nisha leaned in and whispered into Tristol’s ear, “I think he’s our boss.”
“I think the professor mentioned you actually.” Tristol said as he stood up to shake the other wizard’s hand. “Doran?”
“Ah good.” The elf said, happily shaking Tristol’s hand. “I was hoping that Cilret would at least mention some of the other people going along on the expedition, not the least those that you’d be working with, or directly assisting.”
“That would be a big no.” Nisha said before briefly sticking out her tongue.
Doran shrugged. “But you probably got an hour’s lecture on Pandemonium, a lecture on Gautish that amounted to “we don’t know very much”, and some other bits of history.”
“Oh did we ever.” Nisha deadpanned again. “Mr. Lawfulpants likes to talk.”
Tristol turned about and gave Nisha a look.
“But his familiar is adorable.” She said contritely. “I rather like Ficklebarb.”
“He’s something alright.” Doran replied. His familiar cawed out in agreement, and something said that the bird had been chased more than once by Leobtav’s little “red terror”.
“So in any event,” Clueless asked. “I take it you’re here to take us to meet up with the rest of the group? We didn’t expect you for another hour or two.”
He nodded. “I rather suspected that while you probably had a picture perfect rundown on the place and its history, you wouldn’t get much in terms of the human element.”
Clueless grinned and walked out from behind the bar with a glass of wine for their employer. “Then take a seat and feel free to give us the rundown before we actually meet up with everyone.”
Highsilver nodded and thanked him for the wine. He swirled it once, sniffed at it, and apparently having decided its worth, took an approving sip.
“On the expedition we’ll have thirty five scholars of various disciplines, but they’ll be working with Leobtav and me for the most part, so you needn’t really worry about them in that capacity. Outside of them we’ll have a few shy of a dozen porters and a pair of cooks tagging along. Most all of them are pretty green however; in fact only fifteen of them have ever been beyond the Outlands. In theory they know exactly what they’ll be up against, but they don’t have any practical experience. Watching out for them, and anything that might try to eat them is what you’ll be here for.”
“So who else is helping us out in that regard?” Toras asked.
“Outside of yourselves, we’ve hired two others, and I have a third person tagging along because she wanted to and I wasn’t going to tell her otherwise.” Doran paused and sipped at his wine again. “The first is Settys al Khylian, a cleric and paladin of Thoth.”
“Militant scribes. Spooky.” Nisha whispered. “Overdue fines for Thoth’s Library must be stiff…”
Tristol leaned in and put his mouth on her shoulder, poking his teeth in but not actually biting. He said something muffled into her arm and she promptly pantomimed zipping her lips shut.
“Remind me never to keep a book late from a library.” Toras said, thinking the same thing Nisha had.
Doran chuckled. “We needed clerical magic, and he’s a bit more martially adept than your typical priest. All said, that’s probably a wise idea in Pandemonium, and as far as I know, he’s not pushy about religion or theology, so you don’t have anything to worry about there.”
“That’s good to know.” Florian said. “I take it I’ll be working with him in some capacity?”
“That’s what we’d planned.” Doran answered. “When we’re moving as a group, we’re planning on having the fighters at front, the scholars, sages and wizards in the middle, and likely the clerics and another fighter or two at the rear.”
It made tactical sense at least, assuming everyone got along, especially in the claustrophobic atmosphere of Pandemonium’s tunnels and caverns, in the darkness, nearly deafened by the wind.
“So what about the other two?” Clueless asked.
“The next person is Frollis Terpense. He’s something of a fighter, something of a rogue, and I’ll probably have him running point or scouting ahead whenever we’re moving.” Doran explained and then pointed to Clueless and Fyrehowl. “I’ll probably have him pair up with one of you.”
“Because we’ve got similar styles and capabilities?” Fyrehowl asked.
Clueless narrowed his eyes. “Or because you don’t trust him?”
“Yes.” Doran answered, unusually blunt.
That brought some raised eyebrows and perked ears. The elf paused and sipped his wine again, then downed the remainder of the glass.
“The wine is quite good.” He said, breaking from his previous train of thought. “Thank you.”
Florian looked at him pointedly. “Should we be worried, or keep a watch on this guy or something?”
“We’re going to be in Pandemonium.” Fyrehowl stated. “So why did you hire someone you aren’t sure you can trust or not?”
Doran held up his hands. “Our budget doesn’t allow us to be selective like we were hiring for a king’s guard. We have to compromise between talent and personality sometimes.”
“My personality stinks?” Nisha asked as her tail drooped.
“No no.” Doran backpedaled. “I didn’t say that at all.”
“Then I’m incompetent?” The tiefling slunk down in her chair and the elf closed his eyes and took a deep breath.
Xaositects were… well… they were either too much fun, or a nightmare to associate with. At least one person in his employ wasn’t going to have to worry about going mad in the winds, probably because the winds might offer an improvement.
“You’re skilled and everyone likes you, especially me.” Tristol said. “Now let him finish or I will bite you.”
“So you were saying now?” Clueless prompted, handing the elf the remainder of the bottle.
“His past is a blank spot for the most part, though he has some rather extensive yet seemingly unofficial links with the church of Assuran.”
“A follower of Hoar?” Florian asked. Hoar was the Torillian name of Assuran of the Babylonian pantheon, a god of justice and retribution.
“Apparently.” Doran said. “But he was also a member in good standing with one of Torch’s thieves’ guilds, and that information came to me by way of a priestess of Sung-Chiang who from her tone was respectful of him, but in the way of a very skilled craftsman talking about a competitor.”
Fyrehowl tilted her head in something of curiosity and confusion.
“Make of that what you will.” Doran said. “But you’ll meet him soon enough and you can make your judgment then. I’m not asking you to be biased against him -that might be truly counterproductive if he’s on the straight and narrow- but do keep your eyes on him.”
A few contemplative moments passed before the wizard finally took up the third member of his collection of employees, and his description of her brought even more of a reaction than Frollis had.
“A bloody freaking bard?!”
Doran nodded and held up his hands again. “I know. I know. Music doesn’t matter if you’re deaf, have your ears plugged to avoid going deaf, or if the wind is howling in your ears to the point where you couldn’t hear her if she was singing an aria right next to you. Still, she was insistent upon coming with us, and the local area around the Crag makes her more useful than you’d think. Plus, being from Ysgard, she’s a bit more attuned to the level of ambient chaos that Pandemonium will have, for what it’s worth. She’ll be comfortable with that at least, if not the evil tainting the plane.”
Fyrehowl nodded. “We’ve been through worse.”
“So why would a bard be useful?” Toras asked.
“Because much of the Crag is relatively sheltered from the wind around its base.” Doran explained. “It’s in a bit of a natural depression, and only about halfway up towards the summit are you exposed to the normal torrents of wind. It’s not placid by any means below that point, but her magic won’t be automatically drowned out and useless.”
That made some sense, and even made the trip sound marginally less dangerous, barring hungry howler packs and ever-hungrier tanar’ri.
“But enough about the others.” Doran said, pushing his glass forward to decline any further fills. “Lets go over what you’ve got and what you’ll need.”
Having said that, the wizard ran through a mental checklist of things to badger them about. It might be tacky, it might be intrusive and controlling –which was the last thing he wanted to be, and pretty alien to his personality- but it was a necessary evil given where he was taking them. The worst thing in the world would be to have them arrive in the Howling Plane and only during a scrape with a pack of tanar’ri realize that they’d left spell components, or a spellbook, or a divine focus, or their favorite dagger back in Sigil. Better to be repetitive now than handicapped later.
“Have your spellbooks that you want to bring along?”
Tristol nodded and Nisha held up a satchel full of traveling tomes.
Doran glanced at a mechanical timepiece on the wall. “Well, we have about an hour before we’re meeting the rest of the group. That should give us plenty of time to get to the portal.”
“Where’s the portal that we’re meeting them at?” Tristol asked.
“Good question.” Doran said. “But I’d rather show you than tell you. It’s a one-way portal inside Sigil that’ll place us roughly 25 miles from the Crag.”
“Humor me, I’m curious.” Tristol asked. “I hadn’t heard of that one before, especially being so close to a noted landmark on its connecting plane.”
Doran hesitated. “Again, I’d rather show you than tell you.”
Fyrehowl looked at him skeptically. “Why the evasiveness?”
The elf waved his hands. “Because it took more than a wee bit of jink to tease that portal and its key out of Lissandra and her ilk. They have access to a commodity in the knowledge they hoard, and they know how much it’s worth. Plus, beyond the raw cost, they made a condition of our bargain being that I’d restrict knowledge and access to the location to Leobtav, one or two others on our board of directors, and myself. Expensive and they want to retain their future business with others so it’s a hassle on us, but it sure as hell beats juggling planeshifts and teleports for a group of close to forty people, or going in through Bedlam.”
Tristol, Nisha and Clueless were still curious though, and eventually Skalliska –looking a bit more visibly plump by the day- walked into the room and tried to pry it out of the elf as well. He didn’t break down however, and finally they gave up trying to find it out, figuring that they’d just break down the location from the landmarks they passed on the way there. But once they packed all of their gear and did all of their last minute checks, they came to realize just how difficult a prospect that was.
***
Transit to the portal was a rather roundabout affair, and by Nisha’s reckoning they probably crossed two Wards on foot, hopped at least six portals to other places inside of Sigil, and might have even left the City of Doors once. But be that as it might, when they eventually arrived at the portal’s location, they didn’t have a clue for how to easily find it again.
Overcast skies loomed overhead, a mixture of Sigil’s ubiquitous haze, some low hanging rain clouds, and a mixture of thick black smoke, either from stoves or some industrial use. They couldn’t make out any features above them on the opposite side of the ring, so they couldn’t be absolutely certain which Ward they were in, but the rather rundown yet not quite squalid appearance of the warehouses that surrounded them suggested somewhere in the Hive, Lower Ward, or the lower districts of the Marketplace Ward.
They also weren’t the first people to arrive, much to Highsilver’s consternation.
“Beaten to the punch again.” The wizard said, shaking his head wistfully before looking back at his new employees. “Stay tight, see if you can find Settys or Frollis, and I’ll be with Leobtav for a few minutes going over anything last minute. We’ll call out to everyone when we’re ready to leave.”
Doran took his leave and wandered through a milling crowd of people, probably forty of them in all, and quickly vanished into the mix.
“We’ve got our work cut out for us.” Florian lamented, looking out at the assembled scholars.
“Bingo…” Toras agreed. “We’ll be earning our pay with these folks.”
Half of the assembled sages looked like they’d just barely gotten out of a scholarly conference. Their dress wasn’t entirely appropriate, and for most of them any traveling clothes and associated gear fit for a stint in the wilderness of Cocytus looked brand new and unused, and one sage in particular who was acting cocky and talking about his recent trip to Torch of all places, still had the price tags attached to his coat and rucksack.
“Very lawful howler chow.” Nisha deadpanned. “Sorry you guys have to handle them.”
“What do you mean sorry you guys?” Tristol asked as he poked her in the belly.
“Because I have to worry about you.” She replied, grinning as she returned the poke.
Fyrehowl rolled her eyes and smiled. “Howlers are allergic to cute. You two will chase them all away from miles distant. We’ve got nothing to worry about.”
“As long as we can keep these guys from wandering, it won’t be a problem I don’t think.” Clueless said. “I’m more worried about things coming after us down there that are a bit more intelligent than howlers.”
Toras grinned and patted his hand on his sword’s grip. “I’m looking forward to it.”
In turn, Fyrehowl patted the fighter on the head.
Looking over the lot of them, not all of the scholars were as woefully fresh faced and naïve about where they were going though. A small but distinct group of them, probably ten in all, were dressed in well worn and very appropriate clothing, and their stance and expressions all spoke to their having been to the more inhospitable planes numerous times; some of them were likely veterans on the institute’s expeditions to Carceri.
“Wonder if our fellow sellswords have arrived yet.” Clueless asked, and true to form, indeed they had, either with Leobtav’s group or on their own.
Off to the other side of the scholars, hands folded gently across his lap, cradling a sword, sat their cleric of Thoth. Given the dress typical to his priesthood, and the cultures that typically held reverence for its associated pantheon, he definitely stood out. Standing rather tall –only Toras and Fyrehowl were taller- his silver ibis holy symbol hung around his neck catching the dim light a bit more brilliantly than the chain armor beneath his simple white linen vestments, complimented by a few pieces of polished and engraved plate. That combined with his khol and gold wadjet painted over his left eye and his shaved head would have been distinctive enough, but the flaming kopesh he held in his hands made him impossible to miss.
At least a few of the more awkwardly dressed scholars seemed to linger in his proximity, feeling safer either because of his capacity as a cleric of a respected and well-known deity, or purely because he seemed friendly, was on their side, and carried a flaming sword. He didn’t seem to mind, and between prayers he didn’t seem at all averse to talking with them and reassuring them about the looming descent into the lower planes. Someone of his profession and appearance was hard to miss, and he didn’t try to downplay his role at all.
Meanwhile, less a bastion of calm security, strength, and wisdom, Larill Moonshadow, the lillend bard, wandered about the crowd of scholars speaking to each and every one of them, gathering their name and trying to make each little clique of academic specialists mix with one another. Drifting a foot off of the ground, with the lower body of a gold and emerald scaled serpent, and a pair of white-feathered wings sprouting from her back, she was impossible to overlook. She dressed in little more than a length of white and gold cloth wrapped about her torso and held in place with a silver cloak-pin, and outside of a pair of flutes and a small bag hanging from a cinched cord around her neck, she carried nothing else of note. To say the least, she wasn’t going to be on the front lines, and her role was probably more than anything else going to be focused on keeping everyone happy and secure against both the effects of the winds and any mundane arguments or petty conflicts of feelings or words that might spark between various researchers.
In contrast to the cleric and the bard however, Frollis Terpense blended in to a disturbing degree. In fact it took a moment for anyone to truly notice him there, slouched as he was in the shadow of a rain barrel at the corner of one of the warehouses, and another moment to realize that he wasn't a tout in an out of the way area, a local resident, or simply some vagrant. The man was average height, average build, and once he glanced up at his newly arrived compatriots, it was easy to see that he had generically average looks as well, with no peculiar bloodline or ethnic heritage to set him out of a random crowd of Sigilians, or even a random crowd on any dozen prime material worlds or in any trade city on most of the planes.
He was dressed in a cloak, worn boots, and what Tristol could tell in a moment was a suit of heavily glimmered and silenced leather armor. His weapons weren’t visible, but upon a closer look and a bit of concentration with a spell, two distinct auras stood out from their scabbards obscured by his back and his cloak, but either by some property of their own, or that of their sheathes, it wasn’t clear just how they were enchanted.
Either feeling watched, or having earlier noticed them and finally wanting to acknowledge them all, Frollis looked up and gave them an upwards jerk of his head in greeting, though without anything verbal before he yawned and settled back into his slouch. Say what you would about him, but the man blended in to the point that most people wouldn’t give him a second glance, and nor would they be prepared if he decided to put a knife at their back.
“I think everyone is here.” Ficklebarb said from atop a pile of crates, looking down and grinning as he saw his distorted reflection in his master’s bald spot.
Professor Leobtav nodded and went through his list while Doran did the same, checking that each person who was there was in fact supposed to be there, and that everyone on the list was present and accounted for. It would do them no good to leave a linguist, or a porter carrying some vital portion of their supplies, standing alone in a Sigilian back alley while they were already off in Pandemonium.
“Everyone!” The professor called out, mustering perhaps the most authoritative voice –in a social context as opposed to an academic one- that most anyone there had ever heard him produce.
“We need everyone’s attention!” Doran Highsilver called out, just as loudly as his compatriot had, echoed by a loud whistle and flutter of wings from his familiar Mellisan.
Just as they’d hoped, everyone looked up and the low dim of conversation trailed away into nothing. Even Frollis had his attention focused on both of their mutual employers, Leobtav and Highsilver, but only Clueless and Fyrehowl noticed that he was suddenly standing up; they hadn’t seen him move from his slouched position. Either he’d been that quick that they hadn’t noticed, he’d never been sitting there at the corner, or he was a more complicated person than they might have suspected.
Not to be left out, Ficklebarb sat up on his haunches and called out as best he could, “Almost time to leave!”
Leobtav took the momentary attention placed on his familiar to quickly remove and wipe off the lenses of his thin, rounded spectacles. Once back on the bridge of his nose again, he looked out at the suddenly less blurry crowd and smiled.
“You’ve all studied up on where we’ll be going.” He began, addressing the scholars more so than the others. “Remember to keep track of where you are in relation to the rest of each of your groups, and don’t wander off. Keep your ears plugged in case the wind increases to the point where it becomes a danger, and hopefully we won’t encounter any problems on the way from the other end of the portal till we reach the Crag.
Once we get there we’ll be setting up camp, and some of our other people will be scouting the area to make sure that we won’t run across anything dangerous before we start exploring the various caves and other potential locations that I’ve marked on the maps that each of your team leaders have been given.”
“Lawfulpants is right.” Nisha muttered as she lost track of his words and let her mind wander off to trying to see pictures formed by the cracks in the cobblestones beneath her hooves.
“He’s not always boring.” Ficklebarb said to her, having flown over and landed on a horizontal beam of an empty lamppost next to her. “I like him. You just need to get to know him and he’s not all that bad of a guy.”
Nisha looked up at the pseudodragon along with Clueless and Tristol.
“A little dry, but he’s only like that when he’s on something academic. When he doesn’t have his nose buried in a book he can be pretty fun. I know you’re a Xaositect and all, but give him a chance.”
The pseudodragon smiled, and having so recently handed over Amberblue to his native plane, how could she or the others really resist taking the familiar’s advice to heart? Well, at least for a day maybe. After that, cute familiar or not, all bets were off.
Meanwhile the professor had finished and Doran had made his own speech, at which point they both took out what might have been portal keys, or dummy portal keys if the actual key wasn’t physical, and pushed them through the bound space formed by a faded Harry Hatchis mural advertisement on the warehouse wall behind them.
Swirling, gleaming silver, and filled with a faint whispering, the way into Pandemonium was open.
***
Darkness and screaming winds: those were Pandemonium’s gifts to any who walked its unhallowed tunnels. Intermittent and fickle, befitting the Chaos that pervaded its every ancient bone, the wind, be it a gentle breeze whispering deluded promises, or hurricane force gales screaming with the rage of mad, blind god entombed and left to die in the depths, it carried the Howling Plane’s second gift: madness.
Carrying with it an oppressive, punishing weight that the rock of the Elemental Plane of Earth lacked, while simultaneously eschewing the solidity and firmness espoused by that inner plane, Pandemonium’s tunnels were less caverns suspended in the stone than they were pockets of infection worming their way through diseased flesh. Unlike elemental earth, the snarling passages ran madcap through their environment, presenting a labyrinthine warren filled with dangers that seemed intentionally placed, and the caves within the stone of the elemental plane didn’t appear to have been carved out by the feverish, desperate motions of clawed hands, like a god -buried alive- holding its breath and rending at its prison, hoping to reach the light before it suffocated in the lightless depths.
The rocks were slippery, and in between the ebb and pulse of the winds, the momentary silence was punctuated by a ubiquitous trickle and drip of water precipitating upon the stone or leaking through tiny fissures and cracks like the weeping emphysema of a gasping titan. It went without saying of course, that no small portion of that water ultimately came from the subtle, insipid percolation of the Styx, though each drop might have taken a thousand years to penetrate from layer to layer, ultimately pooling at the feet of the explorers who now crowded together for safety, huddled by the dozens around what feeble, flickering light they managed to hold steady against both gloom and gale.
I want a head count of everyone here. Came Doran’s telepathic instruction, piercing the darkness to reassure and focus his and Leobtav’s pack of scholars. Everyone is going to call back their names to me, and we’ll be repeating this every fifteen minutes. If at any point before we reach the Crag we end up missing anyone’s name, we’ll be stopping and not going any further till they catch up with us or else we find where they went.
The wizard paused and both he and the Professor each conjured another globe of artificial sunlight. The illumination was altogether too little, and the warped, unsteady lay of the passage made any movement throw dozens of shadows to dance across what might have otherwise been a solid field of light pushing back the darkness. Still though, the glow was a beacon for each of the group’s members to stay focused upon as they prepared for the miles of hiking that lay between them and Howler’s Crag.
Are we clear on that?
“Perfectly…” Frollis said, squinting against the mage’s illumination as he slipped back into the shadows at the edge of the party, partially blending in and almost merging with them in the process if anyone had been paying him any attention, but of course, it might have just been a trick of the light. “And in the meantime, you go right ahead and make yourself a target for every howler pack for miles around with that light.”
Oddly enough though, while there were four separate packs of howlers lairing in the tunnels leading towards the Crag, none of them harried the group in the slightest beyond trailing them for a few miles before ultimately breaking off their half-hearted pursuit twenty miles from the base of Howlers Crag. They might have thought themselves lucky, but the howlers were keeping their distance intentionally. Like hyenas kept at bay by the presence of a pack of lions at the edge of a heard of antelope on some prime material savanna, the howlers kept their distance because they themselves were disturbed by the presence of something else entirely, something unnatural even in the hellish labyrinth of Cocytus. Something lurked in the darkness, and that something terrified the native hunters and baying scavengers alike.
***
It sat in the darkness, hunched atop the barren summit of the Crag, hands pressed against the rock, head lifted into the full force of the wind, eyes closed, teeth bared.
“Wherever you are, wherever you have fled, know that this is only a temporary respite.”
Of course, those words would never reach their intended recipients. The legend that had built itself around the Crag was simply that, a legend with no grounding in fact, though it certainly fit the tone of the locale, being the gravesite of a nameless power known only in ages afterwards as the Phoenix.
But that past held nothing of especial concern to the being that perched atop that cairn built of weathered godbones. The Wanderer had crouched atop the corpses of other gods before, and he’d sit atop more of them in the ages to come if all went according to his kindred’s vision of what was to be. Not the past, but the path of the future was his concern there at the present moment as he opened his eyes and lit the darkness with a burning emerald radiance streaming from those unholy orbs. A mile away, a pack of howlers whined and winced at the light, and at the presence of the Gloom Father as it perverted the darkness to something altogether more malign than the shadows of Pandemonium were wont to be.
“This is where you’re coming. But why?” He questioned. “What does this place hold for you?”
Unless of course the place was entirely meaningless. Perhaps it wasn’t the place, but rather the people who would gather there. Perhaps none of it held meaning at all, but was only a single event in a chain of events that would themselves give rise to a greater, emergent and meaningful whole in the future that was to be.
The Wanderer snarled. It was enough that his great pursuit had been sidetracked momentarily, but the dangerous enigma that had led him away was yielding no answers, and Pandemonium itself was little comfort to the baernaloth, situated as it was on the very periphery of the hegemony of universal Evil, the shallows of his native lightless sea lapping at foreign shores. The plane’s essence was yet too polluted by Chaos, and his power was diluted accordingly. Admittedly, he was likely still the single most powerful being present upon the plane, but he was removed from his element, far from the depths of his place of power, metaphysically speaking.
“You already know our tongue. You already know the tongue of the first celestials. Chaos and Law are meaningless, though you’d find them here as well. The mortal tongues are nothing, so why here? The legend of the Crag is hollow. What draws your presence here?”
The wind screamed, carrying with it his frustration, and a taunting harbinger of what would come next in moments, and the screams that would follow in the days to come.
Somewhere, a few dozen miles away at most, a portal opened and Severeth Na’Halastrian was immediately aware of it. Oh, to be certain, normally his senses would have noticed not just the portal as it opened, but he would have known instantly where it was coming from, what the portal key had been, and who and what was passing through it. Saturated by Chaos as it was, Pandemonium yet nominally fell into some synchronicity with the true Lower Planes.
But that was not what the Wanderer felt. He felt pain. He felt worry. He felt detachment. His godlike senses dulled and what amounted to a blizzard of metaphysical static blanketed the place like windblown snow.
The sensation, as jarring as it was, it was not a new sensation upon his mind. He’d felt it before, staring at him from the depths of the Clockwork Gap while the winds of the Demiplane of Time howled just as mockingly as those screaming now in Pandemonium.
The Architect and the Clockmaker had miscalculated.
***
Burningspear
First Post
....And as usual you amaze me with the words that you pen down, my little deamon...
'She' said, with voice neither completely female, nor male.. and the giggle that came afterwards.. did not make you think you were any safer within your own thoughts as if the words were your own, or within your own mind.. even soul... but not quite as silent as words would ring when so close to your own being....
; )
'She' said, with voice neither completely female, nor male.. and the giggle that came afterwards.. did not make you think you were any safer within your own thoughts as if the words were your own, or within your own mind.. even soul... but not quite as silent as words would ring when so close to your own being....
; )
Burningspear
First Post
***Bump...
'Clear'!
KRRRZZZAAppp....
A little lightning here to get the juices flowing again, holy lightning that is
'Clear'!
KRRRZZZAAppp....
A little lightning here to get the juices flowing again, holy lightning that is
Shemeska
Adventurer
It's in progress, but as is becoming a usual explanation, I simply haven't had the time to sit down and write lately. By no means is it a lack of stuff to write down, or a lack of knowing exactly where I'm going with the next updates for both storyhours, but just to not being awake enough when I get home to be able to concentrate on writing.
Around mid/late January my lab will be relocating to a new facility that's 10 minutes from my apartment, rather than the 50 minutes it currently is. I suspect I'll be updating more regularly when that happens, but till that point please trust that I'm updating when I'm able to do so. Regardless of 4e disillusionment on my part, both storyhours will be going to completion, regardless of how many more years that ends up being.
Around mid/late January my lab will be relocating to a new facility that's 10 minutes from my apartment, rather than the 50 minutes it currently is. I suspect I'll be updating more regularly when that happens, but till that point please trust that I'm updating when I'm able to do so. Regardless of 4e disillusionment on my part, both storyhours will be going to completion, regardless of how many more years that ends up being.
darkhall-nestor
Explorer
What (pause) you are still posting?
Who are you again?
Oh wait you are the author of this really great story hour
Now maybe we could get piratecat to post again
lol
Who are you again?
Oh wait you are the author of this really great story hour
Now maybe we could get piratecat to post again
lol
Iavas
First Post
Huh...
What an odd feeling. I'm caught up. After more than a year of slow, casual, and desultory reading of this most wonderful story hour, I am finally caught up. What do I do now?
Well, to start, allow me to finally say, in situ, as it were, that you are a stupendous storyteller, Shemeska. I've said it before elsewhere, probably ad nauseam, but I would be remiss not to repeat it again here, given that I am finally as far along as extrinsically possible. Heh... I'm caught up.
Maybe I should start on the second story hour. I'm unsure if I should or wait to finish this one first. It'll only be a scant three years, if we are halfway done.
Oh, and so as to not make this post entirely worthless, I have to ask: which particular cultural naming scheme, if any, are the full names of your baern, 'loths, and mercane based upon? Clueless suggested Arabic, but Ibn's aside, there are certain aspects to them that I do not recognize. If they are fabricated, then they are done quite convincingly and deserve an especial kudos.
Oh well... now I guess I wait. *sigh*
What an odd feeling. I'm caught up. After more than a year of slow, casual, and desultory reading of this most wonderful story hour, I am finally caught up. What do I do now?
Well, to start, allow me to finally say, in situ, as it were, that you are a stupendous storyteller, Shemeska. I've said it before elsewhere, probably ad nauseam, but I would be remiss not to repeat it again here, given that I am finally as far along as extrinsically possible. Heh... I'm caught up.
Maybe I should start on the second story hour. I'm unsure if I should or wait to finish this one first. It'll only be a scant three years, if we are halfway done.
Oh, and so as to not make this post entirely worthless, I have to ask: which particular cultural naming scheme, if any, are the full names of your baern, 'loths, and mercane based upon? Clueless suggested Arabic, but Ibn's aside, there are certain aspects to them that I do not recognize. If they are fabricated, then they are done quite convincingly and deserve an especial kudos.
Oh well... now I guess I wait. *sigh*
