Eccles
Ragged idiot in a trilby.
Whilst we waited in Mage Point for Cymria to contact us, we spent a lot of time in the taproom of the inn. Whilst there, we encountered a number of interesting and entertaining figures, many of whom were looking to hire a group of skilled adventurers with time on their hands.
There was a dwarven fighter clad in layer upon layer of armour, trying to find a band insane enough to want to confront a nest of demons occupying Hellspike Prison. Shuddering, we left this well enough alone after our recent encounter with the denizens of hell.
I discussed possible places for warehousing with a trader who was interested in setting up a route of trade between Mage Point and the Free City, and he was sufficiently delighted with my suggestions to offer my comrades and myself a substantial discount in future.
A third potential employer was looking for a band prepared to free part of his ancestral forests from a green dragon which had already feasted on a small pack of pixies. He was offering 10,000 gold pieces for the head of the dragon.
The last potential employer was the garrison commander for Mage Point, who was interested in our transporting a message to a man in the Free Cities named Thomas Thomason.
Believing that this would be an easy way to pick up the 500 gold and still have time to consider fighting the dragon in the afternoon, we prepared, picked up a small purse for delivering a message for the trader into the Free City as well, and then Endo teleported us to the road outside the mansion house which we had rented a few weeks previously.
Once we had arrived, I immediately stepped through a dimensional door of my own to deliver the trader’s message, then invisibly stepped through a second onto the roof of the inn my comrades were headed for.
A few minutes later, I dropped down from the roof as gently as a feather to land behind them and followed them into the inn.
All sound stopped abruptly as we entered; two drow and a troll amongst others turned to face us as we strolled in. We approached the bar, and after ordering some brackish yellowed water for the monk and ales for the rest of us, a small handful of gold gave us the location of Thomason. We headed through the back of the bar and up the narrow stairs, where (after Flynne hammered on his door for a few moments), the sallow-faced Thomason snatched the sealed message out of my hand and slammed the door once again.
Shrugging, we headed back down the stairs into the common room of the inn. As we reached the foot of the stairs, the main door slammed open before us and 8 blue-robed people rushed into the room blocking the entrance completely.
“Halt,” called out the tallest, who held a short wooden rod in one hand. “You are under arrest. You are charged with facilitating spying.”
At the same time, two more of the blue-robed figures dragged a dazed-looking Thomason down the stairs, one of whom was clutching the note which we had just delivered.
“The note is what we were expecting, sir,” reported one of the two newcomers. “They have delivered the message and are clearly in league with the traitors.”
Recognising the blue-clad figures as agents of the Circle of Eight, I started to try to explain, smugly mentioning that we would hand ourselves in to Manzorian.
“You will get no closer to Manzorian than you are now,” cried the leader. “Men! Destroy them!”
He raised his hands and started to cast a spell but Flynne was swifter. Four arrows flew across the room in swift succession, pinning the mage’s arms solidly to the door before, with a gesture, Endo cast his spell of teleportation and we vanished from the room.
.oOo.
Upon our return to Mage Point, I used a scroll to send a small bird with a messenger to Cymria, Manzorian’s elven assistant who we had met previously. 3 hours later, she returned to the inn.
We were honest with her about the troubles we had gotten into with the Circle of Eight, and the possibility that the town’s chief enforcer was in league with traitors and assassins. She asked us to deal with the situation ‘discreetly’ before she vanished.
Seconds later, she reappeared in our midst looking pleased and expectant.
“Manzorian is back. He will see you now.”
.oOo.
We approached the spired tower along the long walkway, seeing trained bloodhawks circling over the battlements. The guardsmen were police and accompanied us to the study along hallways which sparkled and cried out opulence and wealth.
The study itself was lined with oak and a series of powerfully enchanted landscape paintings, whilst to one side of the broad blue carpet was a heavy desk littered with papers. Behind the desk sat Manzorian, a slim 60 year old man whose hair was greying at the temples. He wore a narrow scimitar buckled nearly at his side, and he stood to shake hands with us.
The conversation moved swiftly to prophecies; Manzorian was tremendously well informed and spoke confidently of the prophecies which would herald the Age or Worms. Apparently there were only two prophecies which had yet to be confirmed as completed, and our stories of Raknian and the three-faced demon beneath Diamond Lake’s mines seemed to match those perfectly.
We showed him the notes and items which we had collected, and learned that Dragotha was a massive undead red dragon of ages past, yet another herald of the Age of Worms.
When shown the Rod segment which we were still carrying, Manzorian understood our problems in an instant, and was keen to offer a solution – a trade of items. He took the rod off our hands and allowed us to choose from his tremendous selection of magical items.
After a while, I was the proud possessor of a new magical ring, and the others were all similarly pleased with their own new acquisitions.
As we sat before his desk, he told us more of the history behind the Age of Worms.
“Kyuss was once a priest, and ruler of the city of Kuluth-Mar,” he explained. “The city was controlled by evil gods, and the greatest of the priesthood created powerful undead, and Kyuss was the most powerful of these priests.
“I know of this history because of the researches of my comrade Balakard, a wizard of no small power. He made an extensive study of the city of Kuluth-Mar in the far-southern jungles. He learned of a site there called the Spire of Long Shadows, a tremendous ziggurat from which Kyuss took the long step to divinity.
“When I last saw Balakard, he was deeply excited and planning a trip to the north to pursue a lead there. It is likely that if you could find him, or even his journal, you would find a great deal more about what is going on. But to do that, you would have to follow the trail, as Balakard would not tell me where it was he was headed to. He had become extremely secretive and was simply not prepared to tell me what he was looking into or where he was going.”
We took our leave of the archmage, and headed south, pausing only to make good on our deal with Cymria and discreetly disposing of the guard captain, whose disintegrated ashes were spread on the winds across the city.
.oOo.
Teleporting to the outskirts of Kuluth-Mar with the help of one of Manzorian’s enchanted portraits, we found ourselves standing in the deepest jungle imaginable. Strange cries rent the thick muggy air, and the heat and moisture meant that our adventuring gear was soaked through within moments.
We picked our way through the thick undergrowth and crested a rise from which we could see the vista of a ruined city. Trees grew up and twined through the smashed buildings, and in the centre of the city was a solid black circle of darkest obsidian. In the middle of this ring stood the ziggurat, an ancient monument of crumbling stone from which rose an impossibly tall tower. Two spikes of solid stone protruded from the sides of the spire, seemingly ignoring gravity with the remaining mystical powers of the city.
The highest point of the spire was a jagged mess of broken stones; seemingly the entire peak of the spire had been torn away by some colossally powerful event in the past.
Chanting a series of eldritch syllables and making a number of complex gestures, Endo was shrouded by the cloak of a deathly figure, whilst dark spirits breathed their energies deep into his lungs. Finally, his skin seemed to age and dry up, cracking and splitting as his lips seemed to recede. His eyes sank into weathered and dessicated skin and he leered toothily around himself at the jungle. His hands, reduced to fleshless claws, flexed as though to test the extent of his grip under the effects of this new and loathsome magic.
We all took a few steps away from him, looking at one another nervously as we headed towards the necropolis of Kuluth-Mar, with a figure from our nightmares marching in our midst.
There was a dwarven fighter clad in layer upon layer of armour, trying to find a band insane enough to want to confront a nest of demons occupying Hellspike Prison. Shuddering, we left this well enough alone after our recent encounter with the denizens of hell.
I discussed possible places for warehousing with a trader who was interested in setting up a route of trade between Mage Point and the Free City, and he was sufficiently delighted with my suggestions to offer my comrades and myself a substantial discount in future.
A third potential employer was looking for a band prepared to free part of his ancestral forests from a green dragon which had already feasted on a small pack of pixies. He was offering 10,000 gold pieces for the head of the dragon.
The last potential employer was the garrison commander for Mage Point, who was interested in our transporting a message to a man in the Free Cities named Thomas Thomason.
Believing that this would be an easy way to pick up the 500 gold and still have time to consider fighting the dragon in the afternoon, we prepared, picked up a small purse for delivering a message for the trader into the Free City as well, and then Endo teleported us to the road outside the mansion house which we had rented a few weeks previously.
Once we had arrived, I immediately stepped through a dimensional door of my own to deliver the trader’s message, then invisibly stepped through a second onto the roof of the inn my comrades were headed for.
A few minutes later, I dropped down from the roof as gently as a feather to land behind them and followed them into the inn.
All sound stopped abruptly as we entered; two drow and a troll amongst others turned to face us as we strolled in. We approached the bar, and after ordering some brackish yellowed water for the monk and ales for the rest of us, a small handful of gold gave us the location of Thomason. We headed through the back of the bar and up the narrow stairs, where (after Flynne hammered on his door for a few moments), the sallow-faced Thomason snatched the sealed message out of my hand and slammed the door once again.
Shrugging, we headed back down the stairs into the common room of the inn. As we reached the foot of the stairs, the main door slammed open before us and 8 blue-robed people rushed into the room blocking the entrance completely.
“Halt,” called out the tallest, who held a short wooden rod in one hand. “You are under arrest. You are charged with facilitating spying.”
At the same time, two more of the blue-robed figures dragged a dazed-looking Thomason down the stairs, one of whom was clutching the note which we had just delivered.
“The note is what we were expecting, sir,” reported one of the two newcomers. “They have delivered the message and are clearly in league with the traitors.”
Recognising the blue-clad figures as agents of the Circle of Eight, I started to try to explain, smugly mentioning that we would hand ourselves in to Manzorian.
“You will get no closer to Manzorian than you are now,” cried the leader. “Men! Destroy them!”
He raised his hands and started to cast a spell but Flynne was swifter. Four arrows flew across the room in swift succession, pinning the mage’s arms solidly to the door before, with a gesture, Endo cast his spell of teleportation and we vanished from the room.
.oOo.
Upon our return to Mage Point, I used a scroll to send a small bird with a messenger to Cymria, Manzorian’s elven assistant who we had met previously. 3 hours later, she returned to the inn.
We were honest with her about the troubles we had gotten into with the Circle of Eight, and the possibility that the town’s chief enforcer was in league with traitors and assassins. She asked us to deal with the situation ‘discreetly’ before she vanished.
Seconds later, she reappeared in our midst looking pleased and expectant.
“Manzorian is back. He will see you now.”
.oOo.
We approached the spired tower along the long walkway, seeing trained bloodhawks circling over the battlements. The guardsmen were police and accompanied us to the study along hallways which sparkled and cried out opulence and wealth.
The study itself was lined with oak and a series of powerfully enchanted landscape paintings, whilst to one side of the broad blue carpet was a heavy desk littered with papers. Behind the desk sat Manzorian, a slim 60 year old man whose hair was greying at the temples. He wore a narrow scimitar buckled nearly at his side, and he stood to shake hands with us.
The conversation moved swiftly to prophecies; Manzorian was tremendously well informed and spoke confidently of the prophecies which would herald the Age or Worms. Apparently there were only two prophecies which had yet to be confirmed as completed, and our stories of Raknian and the three-faced demon beneath Diamond Lake’s mines seemed to match those perfectly.
We showed him the notes and items which we had collected, and learned that Dragotha was a massive undead red dragon of ages past, yet another herald of the Age of Worms.
When shown the Rod segment which we were still carrying, Manzorian understood our problems in an instant, and was keen to offer a solution – a trade of items. He took the rod off our hands and allowed us to choose from his tremendous selection of magical items.
After a while, I was the proud possessor of a new magical ring, and the others were all similarly pleased with their own new acquisitions.
As we sat before his desk, he told us more of the history behind the Age of Worms.
“Kyuss was once a priest, and ruler of the city of Kuluth-Mar,” he explained. “The city was controlled by evil gods, and the greatest of the priesthood created powerful undead, and Kyuss was the most powerful of these priests.
“I know of this history because of the researches of my comrade Balakard, a wizard of no small power. He made an extensive study of the city of Kuluth-Mar in the far-southern jungles. He learned of a site there called the Spire of Long Shadows, a tremendous ziggurat from which Kyuss took the long step to divinity.
“When I last saw Balakard, he was deeply excited and planning a trip to the north to pursue a lead there. It is likely that if you could find him, or even his journal, you would find a great deal more about what is going on. But to do that, you would have to follow the trail, as Balakard would not tell me where it was he was headed to. He had become extremely secretive and was simply not prepared to tell me what he was looking into or where he was going.”
We took our leave of the archmage, and headed south, pausing only to make good on our deal with Cymria and discreetly disposing of the guard captain, whose disintegrated ashes were spread on the winds across the city.
.oOo.
Teleporting to the outskirts of Kuluth-Mar with the help of one of Manzorian’s enchanted portraits, we found ourselves standing in the deepest jungle imaginable. Strange cries rent the thick muggy air, and the heat and moisture meant that our adventuring gear was soaked through within moments.
We picked our way through the thick undergrowth and crested a rise from which we could see the vista of a ruined city. Trees grew up and twined through the smashed buildings, and in the centre of the city was a solid black circle of darkest obsidian. In the middle of this ring stood the ziggurat, an ancient monument of crumbling stone from which rose an impossibly tall tower. Two spikes of solid stone protruded from the sides of the spire, seemingly ignoring gravity with the remaining mystical powers of the city.
The highest point of the spire was a jagged mess of broken stones; seemingly the entire peak of the spire had been torn away by some colossally powerful event in the past.
Chanting a series of eldritch syllables and making a number of complex gestures, Endo was shrouded by the cloak of a deathly figure, whilst dark spirits breathed their energies deep into his lungs. Finally, his skin seemed to age and dry up, cracking and splitting as his lips seemed to recede. His eyes sank into weathered and dessicated skin and he leered toothily around himself at the jungle. His hands, reduced to fleshless claws, flexed as though to test the extent of his grip under the effects of this new and loathsome magic.
We all took a few steps away from him, looking at one another nervously as we headed towards the necropolis of Kuluth-Mar, with a figure from our nightmares marching in our midst.
