Thanks for the posts, everyone.
Cerulean_Wings said:
Now that that's out of the way, I need to ask this question: who in damnation created the Dungeon of Graves? The module, I mean.
The module was originally published in three parts by Necromancer Games. The authors are Bill Webb, Clark Peterson, Greg Ragland and WDB Kenower. The entire mod was repackaged and sold in an expanded boxed set entitled
Rappan Athuk Reloaded. They made 1,000 copies and sold out; the collection is still available as a PDF download.
The module is intentionally deadly and has a reputation as a "killer dungeon" in the same vein as
The Tomb of Horrors. All of the background information about Camar and other details of the setting (the Shining Father and Dagos, the various nations, powerful NPCs not in RA, etc.) are all my own creation.
wolff96 said:
By the way, LB, when you finish with this one, I'd like to put in a vote that you take a hack at the Savage Tide AP. I'm DM'ing that one for a group and I'd love to see what you do with it.
Unfortunately, I have neither the Savage Tide nor the Age of Worms APs; I let my
Dungeon sub lapse shortly after
Shackled City wrapped. I was hoping that Paizo would do a hardcover release as they did with SCAP but it does not look like that is going to happen. I do have some ideas for my next story and may include some manner of reader input in its selection.
* * * * *
Chapter 292
AN UNEXPECTED INTERVIEW
The corridors of the Gathering Hall were quiet, this early in the morning, with the sky just brightening to the east in the first glimmers of the predawn. The Hall was situated on a rise overlooking the spreading expanse of Aelvenmarr, but most of the town yet slumbered, its inhabitants resting or meditating prior to the start of another day.
The wings of the Hall rose up out of the base of the structure like the branches of a tree. Suspended on curving struts of shaped wood, the extensions looked like an architectural impossibility. But the aelfinn could build things of wood that lasted longer than the sturdiest castles of hard stone, and the possessed the gift of melding natural beauty with function in a way that could bring the coldest outsider to tears.
The lean figure clad in a simple black robe paid no attention to the attractive features of the Hall this morning. The elf looked as ageless as most of his kin, but there was a furrow in his brow, a subtle reflection of the serious thoughts that engaged him. His fingers were slender, delicate, his hair a silver cascade that was neatly ordered by a pair of golden rings.
The elf made his way to a door carved with intricate designs of fae interacting within a pastoral scene. The rune upon the door responded to his touch, and the portal opened quietly.
The area behind the door was a small private study, lushly decorated. Bookcases carved in intricate designs covered most of the walls, except where several beautiful paintings were hung in frames of golden scrollwork. The room contained a desk that was built into the far wall, swinging out in a wide arc across the room. The desk was apportioned with neat cases that ordered scrolls, small leather-bound folios, quillcases and vials of ink, and other assorted miscellanea. Behind the desk was a small, comfortable-looking chair, which was occupied by another elf, who looked up as the black-robed man entered. The newcomer’s eyes widened in surprise, as he recognized the other seated before him.
“Lord Draelai. I apologize for this intrusion, but...”
“Alderis! How dare... how did you get in here? What do you want?”
Alderis placed his hands upon the desk. “Reasonable questions. The answer to the first lies in the Conclave’s overreliance on magic, in my view. As for the second...”
Draelai had recovered some of his equilibrium. “I do not care about your motives, Alderis. If you think you can... steal in here, and challenge me in my own office...”
Alderis raised a hand. “It is not my wish to challenge you. If I had thought I could get a fair hearing by approaching you in public, I would have. Unfortunately, as you know all too well, my presence in Aelvenmarr is not a welcome one.”
“With good reason. You were mad, a danger to yourself and others. I don’t know how you escaped from custody...”
“To be honest, I am somewhat murky on that point myself. I do not blame you or the Conclave for taking the actions that you did. In your place, I may have done the same.”
“Why then, have you returned?”
“Has the Conclave taken note of the otherplanar phenomena that have been manifesting throughout Camar over recent months?”
Draelai did not betray any reaction; the elven mage was renown for his self-control, and he had recovered fully from the initial surprise he had evidenced at Alderis’s sudden appearance in his office. “The problems of the humans do not concern us.”
“I am afraid that your assessment is wrong, Draelai. A great disaster is befallen us, a day of dark reckoning that will affect all of the peoples of this world.”
“Are you certain that you have fully recovered, Alderis? I recall you ranting of similar things, in the early stages of your madness. When you were still partially... lucid.”
Something flashed in Alderis’s eyes, but he otherwise remained cool. “I have been to Rappan Athuk.”
“The Dungeon of Graves? Only a madman would enter that place.”
Alderis leaned back, and chuckled softly. “That was so lacking in subtlety to be beneath you, Draelai. When we sparred in the gatherings of the Conclave, your barbs were more nuanced.”
“What do you want, Alderis?”
The elf leaned forward and folded his hands atop the desk. “Whether or not you and the others wish to acknowledge it, there is a great evil stirring in the world. I will assume that you are aware of the assaults upon Camar; you and your cabal may be petty and insular, but you were never fools. I have already joined in the battle against this darkness, and will return to that fight.”
“The humans will not thank you for your sacrifice, Alderis. Their very civilization is a blight upon the land, their values rooted in intolerance and fear of that which is different. Their lives are but the flicker of a flame, but they pass down their hatreds from generation to generation, and they have not forgotten the wars between our peoples.” There was a subtle flash in the elf’s eyes, and a terse undertone in his words that indicated that he, too, had not forgotten.
Alderis heard what was not said, and understood. “I am not asking them to forget,” he said, his voice quiet. “Nor to forgive.” He lifted his eyes and met the other elf’s gaze squarely. “You were not the only one to lose a loved one in the last war, Draelai. But neither would I have the past blind me to the danger that faces both peoples.”
“Go then, and do what you will. Aelvenmarr is no longer your home, and so long as you do not remain, you can cast yourself into the pits of Sarcarr for all I care.”
Alderis nodded, and did not respond for several seconds. “I will do so. But first, I require that my property be returned to me.”
“Ah, so that is what this is about. The matter is beyond my control; your books were turned over to the Lyceum shortly after your escape and flight.”
Alderis nodded. “I know. And we both know that they are not the materials of which I was speaking.”
The two elves regarded each other in cold silence. Finally, Draelai spoke. “Leave this place, Alderis. There is nothing more for you here.”
“Not without my property. This is not a personal matter, Draelai, and if only my interests were at stake, I would leave you to enjoy your plunder. But I urge you, do not test me on this.”
“It is you who should be cautious, Alderis. Your talents were never a match for mine.”
“I am not the same man you knew, Draelai.”
“Be that as it may...”
The elf never finished; he abruptly spoke words of power, and manifested a spell. A glowing line of force materialized in the air in front of Draelai, a
mage’s sword. “Slay him,” Draelai said calmly, lifting his arm to point toward Alderis. He never finished the gesture; the elf suddenly stiffened, transformed into a statue by Alderis’s
flesh to stone spell.
But the magical sword had apparently gotten enough instruction, for it surged toward Alderis. The elf was heavily warded, but his protections were of little use as the sword crashed into his side. His
stoneskin protected him from what would have been a critical injury, but even with that defense the impact knocked him flying over the desk. The sword followed him as he rolled to his feet, giving ground as he summoned a
dispel magic spell to remove the deadly weapon.
Unfortunately, the spell failed to disrupt Draelai’s magic. The sword darted in again, and pain exploded in Alderis’s side as the sword bit deep into his flesh. He fell back against the wall; the sword lunged in to finish him.
Barely in time, Alderis invoked an
antimagic field, and the sword abruptly vanished.
The elf grimaced, and walked over to where Draelai stood, a silent, stone sentinel. He waited until he was certain that the time duration on the
mage’s sword had expired, and then he dismissed the
antimagic field.
He checked the door; the brief fracas had not drawn attention. Draelai’s custom of arriving this early in the morning had been the main reason he had elected to confront the other elf at this time, but Alderis knew that he did not have a great deal of time.
He laid an
arcane lock upon the door, and walked over to where Draelai stood frozen in mid-gesture. He looked at the desk, and picked up a heavy paperweight of polished obsidian from a pile of parchment sheets.
“I am sorry,” he said, then he used the paperweight to snap off two fingers from each of Draelai’s hands.
He placed the paperweight down, and cast another spell. A green radiance darted from his fingertips and spread around the statue, limning it with a soft glow. He then took a length of fabric out of his pocket, and wrapped it around the statue’s head, securing it tightly across its slightly-open mouth.
Those tasks complete, Alderis started another incantation, uttering the complex syllables of a
break enchantment spell.