monboesen said:
This is the third story without strong arcane casters (I don't consider the bard/illusionist multiclassed gnome strong), that is stretching coincidense. Do you dislike D&D arcane magic, it's mechanics, the feel (I actually dislike both), or is it some other problem that leads you to exclude them?
I don't think I'm against arcanists per se, but I do often subordinate characters to the needs of the story, as you noted. I've acknowledged in the
Travels thread that Cal did turn out very suboptimal in terms of his build, and if I had it to do over again, I probably would have made him a single-classed illusionist. In this case I decided early on not to include a wizard in the first cohort, mostly due to the problems of not having access to a spellbook. I considered a sorcerer, but went with a warlock since I had not tried that class before. I hadn't planned on killing off Navev when I started writing (Ukas was the only one on the "kill list" at start), but it fit well into the story, so I went ahead.
I can promise that arcane casters will make appearances later in the story, including one that kicks some serious ass.
We'll find out what happens with Aelos tomorrow, but for now it's time to check on what the bad guys have been up to:
* * * * *
Chapter 53
ZEHN
The high priest of Orcus knelt upon the narrow platform at the apex of the four slender staircases. His position high above the floor of the chamber gave him a panoramic view of the temple, this place of pure corruption. The degree of taint present in this place would have driven most men mad, but Zehn fed upon it, drank deep of the dark powers that were concentrated in this place. Fumes from the lava pit below the platform made his head swim, but in some twisted way he reveled in that too, ignoring the nausea that spasmed in his gut, and letting his consciousness better embrace the chaos of his patron.
He drifted in that state for some time, until those senses that clung yet to his mortal body alerted him to a disturbance. Annoyed, he drew himself back and turned to see one of the underpriests standing upon the steps, his head respectfully bowed low.
“What?” he croaked, his throat cracked and parched. In his trance, he often lost track of the needs of his body; of what importance were such pathetic worries in the face of communion with the True God?
“Great one, there has been an intrusion into the temple quarters. Several of the traps on the chests were triggered; whoever it was has withdrawn.”
Zehn collected himself while he considered the news. He’d been warned to expect a “delivery”, an influx of new energy for the Sphere of Souls that would have greatly enhanced his standing within the ruthless hierarchy of those who served the True God. He had been distracted by other concerns, but realized that he had let his outward interests draw his attention from the more mundane concerns of his temple.
“The warders on the third level?”
“We sent a party, they have seen nothing,” the underling replied at once.
Zehn thought for a moment. The fact that intruders had gotten past his guards wasn’t too troubling; Rappan Athuk was honeycombed with passages and tunnels, some known to the priests of Orcus, some not. Or the intrusion might have come from within; it could certainly be possible that one of the priests from the other temples was probing for weaknesses, in anticipation of a preemptive strike.
At the thought, the high priest let out a strangled chuckle. Let them come; the power of the True God was strong within him.
The underpriest ignored his superior’s self-indulgence, keeping his head carefully bowed. Zehn fixed his attention upon the man, whose power was growing, if not yet a true threat.
“Perhaps someone was looking for your book,” he said. The underpriest betrayed his surprise with a tiny shift, and Zehn continued, “Did you think you could hide it from me? A
book of vile darkness, kept from my attention within my own sanctum?”
“No, great one,” the priest said.
“Bring the book to me,” he commanded. “You will lead the ritual cleansing at darknight this eve. And will thank the True God that you do not pay for your presumption with an eternity of service in unlife.”
The underpriest did not bother to hide his terror from his master. “As you command, great one,” he said, bowing until his forehead almost touched the edge of the landing.
“Set additional guards outside of the sleeping chamber, and order the guards on level three to resume patrols of the upper levels. Any incursions are to be reported to me directly. And direct the senior priests that they are prepare
glyphs upon their next rest, after the darknight ritual. You may go.”
As the underling retreated back down the treacherous stairs, Zehn pondered. Action needed to be taken. His temple was already considerable under strength. The party of orcs he’d sent out to the Oracle had never returned with the answer to his latest question. They could have been slain—the path to the Oracle was not without hazard—or they might have gone over to another faction. That was one reason he had tasked the orcs with such errands; they were expendable.
Of more import was the delay of Severus in returning. He’d sent out the priest along with a hand-picked cadre of the more competent of the acolytes almost ten hours ago. Their task had been in part to track down the fate of the missing orcs, but Severus’s primary mission had been to initiate an embassy to Scramge. Zehn considered possibilities, none of which were favorable to his plans. Scramge had always held itself aloof from the schemes of the cult of the True God, but Zehn had to consider that perhaps the creature had finally put itself in play. Had it been responsible for the missing party? Had it now taken Severus and his team into its custody? Had another faction gotten to it first?
Of course, it was also possible that Severus himself had been confronted with an opportunity to betray his master, and had turned. That was how Zehn himself had risen to his current position of leadership, almost a decade past.
It was a complicated thing, serving within an organization dedicated to chaos and evil.
But Zehn was blessed of the True God, and he had resources beyond mere men and orcs.
The dark cleric cast out with his mind. A few seconds passed, and then a huge creature materialized before him, a vrock demon. The vulture-like creature hovered in the air on powerful beats of its wings, fixing the cleric with a potent stare that radiated a deep malevolence upon all living things. In the light from the lava below, the creature’s appearance was particularly hideous and alien.
Zehn was not afraid; he was favored, and the creature knew it.
“What is your desire?” it asked him.
“Travel to the second temple. Give my respects to Gudmund, and petition him for a flask of diamond powder, and for additional guards for my temple. Tell him that I have a valuable gift to offer... you know what it is.”
“The book?” the vrock said.
Zehn nodded; it was impossible to keep most secrets from the demons. He had served the True God for four decades, almost his entire life, but the monstrosities from the Abyss had been seeped in deceit and chaos for millennia. In most cases, he didn’t even try to obfuscate; let the True God’s servants believe that the humans could conceal nothing from them. The entity before him was powerful, but it could not channel the power of the True God as he could.
Soon enough, even the greatest of their wretched race would bow before
him.
The vrock, perhaps sensing the thought, cackled and vanished. As it
teleported away, Zehn turned his gaze to the side. The ceiling of the temple cavern seemed to press in close upon him, although it was in reality a good fifteen feet higher than the platform. The rough surface was a black forest of dark stone protrusions and deep shadows, where the light from below never fully ventured.
“Come,” Zehn whispered.
A shadow detached itself from the web of darkness and drifted forward. As it came nearer, it was revealed as a being of shadow, an incorporeal undead being that radiated a cold and malign power.
“Seek out these intruders, Nadroj,” he commanded. “If they are weak, destroy them... else bring word back to me of their numbers and location.”
The spectre did not respond, but after a moment, it drifted away, vanishing through the cavern ceiling.
Zehn stood, wavering for a moment as his body’s weakness threatened to betray him. He summoned the power of the True God, and as the unholy energies of his patron filled him, he felt a surge of glorious ecstacy drive out the pathetic weakness of his body. He let it sweep through him, then turned to the nearest of the staircases.
Below, the acolytes were preparing the ground before the huge statue of the True God for the darknight ritual, under the watchful eyes of one of the underpriests. He didn’t descend all of the way, stopping just a handful of steps down. The stairs were steep and treacherous, lacking a railing or any other safety mechanisms, and more than one careless priest had fallen to his death when traversing them in haste. But Zehn had already transcended any mere mortal fears, and he leaned out dangerously over the lip of the stairs to regard the prisoner.
The captive hovered below the platform, bound with ropes around his wrists and ankles that were fastened to the adjacent stairs. His body sagged, his shoulders dislocated by the strain of his own weight against the joints. He was naked save for a few tattered rags, and his exposed flesh was a bright red, seared over long exposure to the rising heat of the lava pool below. He had been pushed beyond the bounds of most mortal creatures to endure suffering, but he did not die. And that was what fascinated Zehn; it was not his doing, or even
His doing, that kept life within this fragile mortal shell.
When the prisoner had first fallen into his hands, he had been prepared to sacrifice him to the True God, to add its life to the Sphere of Souls. He’d sensed a potency within him, masked by the obvious madness that clouded the mind of the creature. Almost as soon as they’d brought him within the confines of the temple, he had begun to babble incoherently. Zehn had been ready to forego the ritual and just order him tossed into the lava alive when the prisoner had said something that had chilled him to the very core of his being.
Now, the prisoner said nothing, lost in a half-space between life and death where even Zehn could not find him. He did not dare to kill the wretch, not now, but he likewise knew that keeping him alive was dangerous.
“Speak,” he whispered. But the captive did not stir.
“The True God has named you His,” Zehn said. “So I leave you to His keeping.”
Turning away, the high priest descended the stairs.
* * * * *
The spectre passed slowly through the strata of rock that supported the corrupt weight of Rappan Athuk, its incorporeal body passing freely through mere mundane obstacles like stone and earth. There were places it could not go, even here, but even within the ground it knew where it was, and where it was going.
It passed out into a dark cavern. It passed by its lair, confirming that the seals were intact. It saw the bodies left by those that had come this way, the gruesome remains of vermin hacked and mangled. Such beings had nothing to interest one such as it, but it lingered by the shield trapped in the webs, to Nadroj’s senses still faintly warm with the life energy of the one who had held it. It was sweet, that faint afterimage. Nadroj felt an urge to track down the source of that faint trace, but instead it seeped into the cavern wall.
It drifted by the underground river. The trolls were not in appearance, but Nadroj could sense their presence. One of them was forever gone, a black slick upon the stone of the bank the only reminder that it had existed.
It traveled upward, passing through layers of stone that had been formed at a time when the world was new. It quickly explored several chambers, occasionally finding traces of those that had come this way.
Finally, it drifted slowly out of a wall to find a cavern occupied by cold light, and warm bodies.
Nadroj was almost overcome with a surging hunger. The four mortals in the room... they seemed to
shine with a bright glow of light, a beacon that drew at the undead creature like a candle’s flame drew a moth. The spectre could sense their power as well, but Nadroj too was powerful, and these travelers were battered, beaten, unprepared. It would not take long for it to sweep in, shatter their defenses, and feed...
The spectre hovered there for a moment, caught by conflicting drives. But ultimately it retreated back into the stone. It drifted away, but not in the direction of the temple, which was scarcely a hundred yards distant, as it traveled.
Instead, Nadroj sank deeper into the earth, into the very bowels of Rappan Athuk.
