The Unleashing of Sarrash
Thank you everyone for keeping this thread alive. This update has been a tough but rewarding one taking a bit of time for me to “get it right”. Due to the size, the footnoting appears at the bottom of each section rather than at the end of the update – hope this does not cause any confusion. Comments to your kind responses are at the end as usual. Apologies for the length of this update; I’m sure it will be too long for some and too short for others.
Author’s Warning: Again, material and language in this instalment is of a more adult nature and is recommended suitable for a mature audience only. I seek not to offend but sincerely apologise if I do.
Just before the death of Ugari, Shamaness and Light of the Strauchn Clan in a dank cold cave smelling of purest undeath, three mortal souls await their fate…
The olive light produced by the gem in the centre of the cave provided scant illumination to their surroundings. Isaac looked down at the fitful man in front of him; Moro’s closed lids furiously fighting his private nightmare in a sleep now more of utter exhaustion than of the mortal sickness ravaging his body. The supposed priest Dannikin was at the edge of the malevolent and sour glow mumbling in a tongue not of Isaac’s understanding. He was pitifully clawing here and there on the cave wall with his stubby fingers trying to find purchase or release or understanding or some type of peace from his many demons. Isaac had tried to convince him that there would be no escape and that the corpse-witch would soon return. He suggested the priest would do well to hoard as much strength as he could for when they needed it. Unheedingly the dribbling of dirt and rubble floating to the cave floor from Dannikin’s scrabbling continued unabated, only broken here or there by the gasps of the sickened sailor Moro, his occasional laboured breathing an echoed gurgling of phlegm and fever from within his stricken windpipe. The sweaty sickly smell of death clung closely to his being like the sweetened stench of carrion. Isaac’s good hand gently supported the head of the dying man.
It was at this time that Isaac considered his life to this point. An orphan from his early years, he had always struggled with abuse of one form or another. The years had passed him by with nothing to really project him from the ruck of distorted humanity he had associated with. Even as a mercenary guard, his small achievements were of little to no consequence and by rights, had he have held to the charter he had signed and agreed to uphold on his honour and soul, his head would now be crudely parted from torso, providing but a few moments of addled joy for some stinking barbarian. Bastards! The absolute friggin’ bastards! They would pay and pay dear if he could but get the opportunity. To inflict pain on just one of the ****s would be… must be… a justice of sorts.
As the haze of anger slowly faded, Isaac glanced up the tunnel where the witch had disappeared some time ago. Nothing. She had bid them stay here on pain of some extreme death beyond their pitiful comprehension. She had warned them that if they ventured into the depths of the cave, the horror they currently felt would be as nothing to what would be methodically inflicted upon them. To the warning, Moro was unconscious and the priest distracted, completely paralysed by fear. Isaac however took the threat gravely.
He glanced once more down at the sickened sailor as he gently laid Moro’s head down on the cold cave floor. The intense heat from his fevered body made Isaac uncomfortable, the mess that had become of his leg made worse in the tepid light. It would be far better to die with a sword through the heart than this: each laboured moment progressively more painful than the last. He drew his knees beneath him as he kneeled to stretch his cramped arms and back. It was then that he realised that the bastard priest was no longer nearby at the front of the cave. He was gone.
“Priest?” He harshly whispered. “Where are you damn it?!”
His hoarse voice tensely echoed down the cave, as he looked frantically from side to side. Had he found a way to escape… or had he gone down the cave tunnel? Terrefin take his hide for sail he didn’t need this. He stood awkwardly as the blood seeped back into his legs. Trying to penetrate the poor boundaries of the timid light he could see nothing. Nothing. It was like the man had vanished… or been taken.
***
In the cave at this time…
The pallid light was gone but in madness, Dannikin could see. Not in the regular sense or by terms defined by his natural vision, but in the sense of unrestrained insanity: an unnatural affinity with the surroundings pervaded the fat priest’s distorted judgment. He knew he was doing something wrong but the part of him that managed his faculties of logic was compacted into a tight impenetrable ball, inert from its surroundings. He continued down the cave, passage, hallway – whatever it was – unheeding, lurching, yearning for… something.
Like an instantaneous shift in his perception, he saw the red glow ahead. His head cleared slightly as he made a perverted sense of what he saw. The witch was below in a large circular depression in the cave like the opening into a small subterranean amphitheatre. Around her were things no mortal man should ever have to bear witness. The dark spirits of the netherworld raced around her, blackened and corrupted, their intertwining spirals and circles representing some ritual of profound evil. The red light seemed to have no source but its dull glow illuminated more than what Dannikin, frozen by the display, wanted to see.
The witch was held aloft several feet above the ground by an invisible force, her arms pinned above her like some ancient crucifixion of malignant significance. Directly beneath her was a receptacle, a chalice made from a foreign and vile metal, shaped into the form of a creature beyond the former priest’s knowledge. It glowed as it caught an ichorous dark fluid slowly dripping from and down her body. Dannikin’s gaze lifted from the chalice and slowly up her body, rivulets of the fluid needling down her unflesh like some spidery desecration. It was however her face that woke him out of his insane and riveted inanimation. Her eyes were closed in an autoerotic, orgasmic climax of corrupted joy. The unflesh that was her lips ripped as the screams from her throat became more violent but completely haunting in the absolute silence surrounding the entire area. As if suddenly unfettered and unloosed from his binding to the rite he ran spastically, tripping over himself to get away. Dannikin sped from the scene of despair, his momentary mortal presence seemingly unnoticed. He ran and ran and ran, unaware and ignorant of the horrific culmination of the dark ritual: the shadowy fall and submersion of a small tumescent lump into the gorged vessel.
***
A short time later where Isaac stood, the fear of desolation crippling his perceptions…
Isaac’s mind started to play tricks upon his senses as images of strange entities entered his perceptions. Moro was dying and it was as if something or many somethings in the caves darkness were eagerly and rapaciously awaiting some unspoken opportunity. He looked around fearfully before the hatred began to well once more. Isaac did not even realise that he was in his own mortal way feeding off of the painful dying of the sailor. He looked for the knife, eventually finding it discarded next to the cave wall at the edge of the light. It failed to glisten but its weight provided a node for Isaac’s burgeoning anger and hatred for the Derman population. So focused was he on thoughts of revenge and vengeance that he was knocked off his feet and to the ground by the charging Dannikin. The former priest then crashed into the end of the cavern trying to literally bullock past the barrier. The magics that protected the cave entrance held once more.
Isaac took a moment looking up from his stricken position before getting to his feet once more in anger. “What the hell are ya doing you ****ing fat fool?”
He advanced to the former priest yelling. “If that bitch comes back wanting answers I swear I’ll haunt your soul for eternity too! You’re lucky I don’t carve this knife into your craven arse…”
Something snapped in Dannikin. “Galasso damn your foul tongue!” he roared. His bulk towered over Isaac as he brought his arm around collecting the mercenary’s jaw. Isaac dropped as Dannikin’s knee came up to collect his falling body with a fleshy crunch. Dannikin’s fury then turned into fear; he suddenly seemed shocked by his actions as Isaac slumped to the ground. “I’m sorry… I didn’t me to… oh my…”
Isaac stirred then looked up rubbing his jaw. The blow had evaporated the hatred as quickly as it had swelled. For a moment he almost laughed, he didn’t think the bastard priest had it in him. The pain strangely enough engendered the beginnings of a strange respect. Isaac shook his head. “Save the roundhouses for later, they’ll come in handy.” He felt his jaw once more assuring himself that nothing was too badly broken. “Damn you throw a good punch”.
Dannikin looked down at Isaac before proffering a fat hand to help him up. Isaac took it – strangely signifying a bizarre peace or truce of sorts.
Dannikin, still troubled by his erratic emotions whispered, “We must get out of here. I saw things no man should ever have to see. Whatever foulness the witch follows will take more than just our lives, on our souls I swear.”
“Damn it I just wanna get outta here. What happened?” Isaac said screwing up his face.
Just before Dannikin could respond, an expulsive groan emanated from Moro. Isaac rushed over, Dannikin quickly following. For whatever reason though, Moro refused to give up and allow himself to be taken by the unseen presences haunting him. “It’s like he will not die, no matter what pain his body suffers,” Dannikin observed.
“Well stuff that, he’s suffered damn well enough! He doesn’t have to live through this **** anymore.” Isaac grabbed the knife from where he had dropped it and then sought to penetrate Moro’s vitals to give him his final peace. As he went to plunge the sailor’s knife deep into Moro’s ribcage, some force ripped it from his hands sending it flying, the force pushing him back also.
“His fate is not yours to decide mortal,” spat the witch, her presence previously un-noted but terrifying in the sudden visage she now presented. She stepped forward, her naked corpse sickening in the olive light. Behind her floated a chalice carried aloft by the hint of a shadow. Isaac was frozen to the spot while Dannikin’s bloodless face had whitened to a horrified pale; he fell to the ground, collapsing in utter terror.
“It is now time for you to serve out your promise to me mortal filth! Drink deeply from the chalice and slake your thirst.” The words once more were spat from her ruptured lips. Neither Isaac nor Dannikin moved whilst Moro lay as still as before, the look of pain still squarely upon his tormented features. The dark spirit holding tightly to the chalice floated forward to within reach of the men, it’s mien one of lust, urgency and extreme hunger. Dannikin’s fat bulk had backed away to the cave wall while Isaac looked upon the vessel with unhidden disgust. He simply could never force himself to reach out and grab hold of the chalice.
“Drink you fool! You test a patience I fail to have.”
Isaac still refused to move, the complete terror overbearing his senses. He then thought to perceive movement from within the chalice. As his senses flew inside his head colliding haphazardly within the inner shell of his skull, he thought to glimpse a fleshy foetal knob reach from the chalice and beckon to him. The unbridled horror before him forced timid consciousness from his features. Isaac slumped before some force took hold of his system arching his back in extreme pain and forcing his mouth wide open. He struggled with the unseen force while Dannikin’s spastic fit of terror continued behind him. The corpse witch stepped forward with utter hatred on her face.
“Now”, she hissed, sending a bolt of pure energy into Moro’s body driving it into the wall next to Dannikin’s moaning, “Drink of the chalice or I will take the life from you as well”.
Moro’s thrown body was caught at an unnatural angle on the cave floor, an incarceration of electricity arcing through the lifeless corpse. Isaac then felt the force upon him release slightly. What courage and will he maintained coalesced in that single moment as he hoarsely whispered, “Death will be a release you bitch. Kill me now. I no longer care.”
There was silence.
Isaac then heard a sound he could not immediately comprehend. He soon realised the sound to be an insane cackle from the witch aimed directly at him. She was laughing. He turned his neck to see Moro’s body moving, unnaturally rising as the flesh sickeningly sloughed from his bones in reaction to the staccato motion.
“Serve me alive or serve me dead. It is all as one”, she hissed laughing at the fates of these foolish mortals.
The undead body of Moro, charged to repletion with negative energy from the cave spirits that had haunted him, awaited patiently for further instruction. The force she commanded now viciously gripped Isaac like a vice forcing his jaw to horribly overextend before dislocating from its joints. The dark shadow holding the cup was eager to serve and poured the uncongealed contents down Isaac’s stretched gullet. His body tried to convulse and choke to eruct the foul contents but the dark ichor ran and probed settling deep into his gut. While he could feel the evil fluid at work, he could not comprehend or appreciate the terrible arcane transformation occurring deep within his spent body.
***
At the completion of the Dark Ritual of Irian Kasa but before Ochrisi na Dura’s destruction of Moro’s mortal bindings…
Ochrisi, former flame of the Strauchn felt completely infused by the necromantic rite with dark and extreme power. She glanced down at the homunculus unholy birthed from her rotting uterus as it struggled to remain buoyant, sitting in unnatural happiness in it’s chaliced pool of bloody ichor. The construct would be indispensable to her plans{1} and soon, vengeance would be hers to reap. In fact the thoughts of vengeance pushed many things from her mind – the intrusion upon the rite by the former priest of Galasso amongst them.
Karodo had played her for a fool by a plan so sadistically cunning, its burning left a branded mark upon what was left of her tattered soul. Even now she burned with hatred to think of the foundling he had planted and fooled her with so many years earlier. Blinded by the potential held by her successor, she nourished the babe on the milk of lust, domination and power preparing her perfectly for the role of Shamaness. If only she had known she was slipping directly into the Shaman’s trap. Tricked, she now burned for a revenge beyond Karodo’s comprehension. He thought her dead, which she was. He failed to realise however that she still not only held influence, but also the seed of Karodo’s downfall and defeat. With the mortals to soon be under her complete control, she would force them through the gap in Karodo’s pathetic prophecy and unravel his power and influence to nothing. As long as the fat and feeble mortal revealed to her remained alive, she could penetrate Karodo’s prophecy. The others were simply tools and expendable.
Ochrisi stepped down the tunnel preparing to emplace the final cog in her own augury inspired plan. She felt something try to penetrate the wards at the caves mouth but they held. She commanded the dark spirit holding the large chalice to grip the vessel with its fullest strength. It was replete with her essence, pivotal in being able to control the mortals directly. The tiny construct was now submerged, its ecstasy upon completely immersing itself in her foul essence producing several pulsed gurglings of complete bliss.
“It will not be long now my child and you will fly… you will fly,” she cryptically repeated.
The olive light of the hurtha gem shone ahead and so she stilled, to gauge the life force of the three mortals she had trapped. One was close to death, fighting off the spirits in the cave. They were like unrelenting vultures waiting to penetrate his being with their negative energy. His fight against them was futile, his resolve rapidly weakening. The life force from the obese priest maggot was strong with fear, resilient almost. This troubled her somewhat as it lent itself to unpredictability. She must crush his will first, so she could rely upon a lack of truculent behaviour. The last one of the three would be her instrument to subvert the priest. The hatred flowed through him with vigour and strength; such things could the spirits at her command manipulate with ease. She would force them to drink from the chalice, and be her slaves for what little time remained of their mortal lives. As long as she could keep the fat priest alive, her plan would succeed.
She venomously stepped into the light.
***
{1} The Rite of Irian Kasa was an ancient ritual favoured only amongst the more powerful and necromantically inclined shamans and wangateurs in the Derman region. The aim of the process was to produce a node of evil that could be transferred to someone’s being so that they could be controlled, abused or destroyed. In terms of game mechanics, it is based upon the necrotic feats and spells in the Libris Mortis tome.
At this stage it is most probably worth delving a little further into the make-up of the Shaman.
The classic magic-users are either “high choice-limited capacity”: the wizard, “low to medium choice, enhanced capacity”: sorcerer and the “very low choice, unlimited capacity” of the warlock. There is nowhere in here that really fits to my concept of the Shaman. To me, a Shaman’s focus is on rituals and transformations, not dissimilar to an arcane druid. However, what mechanically separates them from other casters is a lack of quickly initiated castings. The concept of a standard action to complete a spell should be almost nonexistent for the Shaman. Magic may be in place and be manipulated, or alternatively, a staff or item may be quickly used but the quick conjuring from nothing should simply not be their forte. The magic requires a vehicle such as a charm, skull, construct or other device to be effective. As such, while the ritual takes a lot more time, likewise is the time of effect extended as well.
In the above case, rather than casting the necrotic spells, a ritual is performed producing the chalice of ichorous liquid and the necrotically infused homunculus. The liquid has only a very short time span to be effective upon the recipient (imitating the necrotic cyst spell) while the homunculus becomes a semi-permanent effect awaiting use. The homunculus which is the prime product of the Irian Kasa ritual, has all of the necrotic spells infused into its being – including the devastating effect of Necrotic Termination. Such is Ochrisi’s attempted plans for Karodo.
***
A short time later with the Corpse Witch gazing into Dannikin’s stricken face, the Chalice but inches away…
Dannikin was frozen against the wall as Ochrisi na Dura’s gaze penetrated his very soul. So consumed was he that he failed to perceive Isaac’s continued agonised writhing to the side of him; Isaac was clutching his guts in agony as his innards were slowly replaced by some foul degenerate tissue{2}. The passive patience of the undead Moro glancing mindlessly at events provided a horrific juxtaposition and counterpoint.
“Do not force me to apply the chalice’s nourishment to your quivering lips”, she warned. “Get up. Take the chalice and drink of your own volition.”
By this stage, the tiny construct had exited the vessel and crawled to her shoulder where its wet, crumpled and fleshy wings tried to extend unsuccessfully. It tried to communicate but failed to telepathically convey more than a basic emotion of joy, celebrating its rotting newness. It clambered to the ear of its “mother”. Dannikin was so frozen with fear; he could not even shut his eyes or turn away from the complete horror.
Just then, the Witch’s eyes suddenly dilated in terror as the power that was holding her soul to her rotted corpse evaporated. She felt in that precise moment the death of Ugari and the extinguishing of the flame of the Strauchn. In desperation, she instantly put forth a magic but unfortunately, its path would only go in a single direction: directly to that of the priest. Her soul screamed as Dannikin tried to resist her spirit trying to penetrate his own. He failed pitifully; the power still held by the former flame of the Strauchn was too strong for Dannikin’s battered body and soul. However, rather than his consciousness being trampled into the depths of his skull, he felt the awareness of the witch permeate and pervade his senses. He could feel her malevolence, evil and hatred infiltrate and takeover his system. The madness of a hatred and revenge beyond his comprehension irrevocably stained his soul as the full weight of her spirit found life within his poor body.
Initially she had panicked. Now, as the shock to Dannikin’s and now her system waned slightly, the full reality of her (their?) situation dawned. Dannikin’s hoarse throat then roared in angst and agony, not totally of his own volition. His mind now worked beyond a pace of its natural rhythm. How could the spirits of fate be so cruel? Why had her prophecies not revealed Ugari’s death? How would she now achieve her revenge? The thoughts were like a volley of bolts into his skull as the rapid-fire inquisition in his mind continued unhalting and unabated. The tension inside Dannikin’s skull was enormous as the soul spirit of the witch took over his system.
He felt powerless and uncontrolled as she then ruthlessly controlled his actions, her will dominating his actions entirely. He looked down; the homunculus was fleshly flopping on the ground like a fish bereft of water. Ochrisi forced his body to pick the cold fleshy lump up and return it to the Chalice. A horrific surge of emotion struck Dannikin’s nerves as he felt the most unholy of connections with the sickening creature. It now looked up to him as it’s mother, spontaneously linking itself to the witch’s essence inside him.
Ochrisi’s essence then waxed in ascension once more. She would fulfil the prophecy {3}revealed to her, even if it must be from inside the weak and feeble body of a man. Ochrisi now began to understand the full cunning ramifications of Karodo’s dire plan. He must have plotted his machinations over a period of time beyond her foulest fears. To do this required an incredible patience beyond her estimations and judgment. Had he also planned then for her imminent unseen attack? What prophecies had been revealed to him and did he understand their fullest meaning? She pondered further before scattering the seeds of doubt with a savage swipe of her will. She then made her preparations to leave her cave for the final time.
***
{2}The effect of the Necrotic Cyst had taken effect deep inside Isaac’s stomach. Perhaps fortunately, he did not understand the full ramifications of this.
{3}It had been revealed to Ochrisi na Dura shortly after her undead resurrection that she would indeed have an opportunity to take her revenge upon Karodo. She had distilled the augury to the point where it would take the actions of a man foreign to the soil of Derman to touch and make vulnerable the evil Shaman of the Pianatha. The use of the necrotic homunculus was her own device, to inflict the most painful death imaginable upon her mortal enemy.
***
And again later but in a different cave deep within the territory of the Pianatha as the dawning of the prime sun shone into the cave’s entrance…
The Demon spoke.
“We have succeeded oh brother of mine. Our victory sees the prophecy fulfilled. The true power will be ours to command…”
Karodo allowed the demon spirit to continue whispering and rambling thoughts of power in his possessed mind; it’s harsh but snivelling voice providing suitable ambience for the moment. Bereft of sight, his other senses had frighteningly grown to compensate. He could feel the slight tendrils of warmth timidly making their way to his present position. He could also feel the familiar stench in his cave beyond that of his base olfactory senses. Fear, pain and remembered agony could still be smelt by Karodo in this his sanctum of dominion.
Aside from the presence of the kneeling Jengus whose deeply drawn breaths laboured in shared victory behind him, there was now a new aura pervading the cavern. The horned growths that had disgorged from Karodo’s sockets pulsed and fibrillated in excitement and sensation to the savagery directly in front of him. The stake penetrating the cave floor held aloft a gored prize upon its decayed, ancient and jagged point. Its prize was the severed head of Ugari: Shamaness, Wisdom and Light of the Strauchn Clan, teacher, mentor and lover to the Alienist Lucifus Cray, dread victor over former flame of the Strauchn Ochrisi na Dura and unbeknownst to almost all, the prophesised and biological daughter to the disfigured Shaman currently revelling in exultant joy over the brutality of her decapitated head. {4}
***
{4}Prophecy like most rituals formed the backbone of a Shaman’s activities and role. The ability to truly divine and understand the portents they foresaw was pivotal in the success of any Shaman guiding their clan.
For Karodo, he was about to fulfil the prophecy he had unearthed so many turns before. He would gain eternal life in exchange for the defeat of the Pianatha’s eternal enemy: The Strauchn. The prophecy revealed that he would then conquer and unite the coastal tribes and rule over all and that none could stand in his way. The prophecies he had revealed spoke of many instances, which he had augmented over the turns through numerous divinations. Understanding the core of the prophecy however had eluded him for many moons until one day, he understood the strange path that he must take. It would be many turns of the sun in its fulfilling but patience he must have. The spirits of fate had told him that only when he could defeat one of the Strauchn that was of the seed of his loins would the spirits unite behind him.
He had tried many things over the years to accomplish this, all to no avail. It was only when he learned through a particularly powerful, new and innovative divinatory technique that only when one from his seed could rise to the position of shamaness of the Strauchn would he have the power to destroy her and thus his blood enemy. Karodo felt exalted yet defeated at the same time. How could he accomplish such an absurd twist of fate? As he ruminated over the ridiculousness of the concept, it occurred to him how to achieve such ends. Such a thing would take time and planning. And so now, many turns on, he was on the precipice of success. The time had been right; the celestials had been in accord, as what was left of his daughter hung before him. The destruction of his only daughter not only destroyed his enemies but would also now gift him with the immortality he craved.
The mixed messages of his most recently failed divination had been forgotten as he revelled in his perceived success.
***
In the early morning, hidden inside his enclosure having escaped the immediate implosion of the societal bindings of the Strauchn, Lucifus Cray looks upon the stricken headless body of Ugari, anger in his heart and revenge upon his lips…
The fear of the Shamaness that held the nature of the barbarian tribe in check and unity had dissolved. Some of the now destroyed clan had run to escape while others saw only the opportunity for conflict. Amongst this upon the sward, Lucifus had been oblivious until the callous, grim visage of Sarrash began a cachinnating convulsion at Lucifus’s expense. No sooner had Lucifus turned than his eyes had directly gone to the fallen, blood-spattered and decapitated body of Ugari. The bottom of his entire world had fallen away at the sight of her stricken body. Lucifus had turned back to Sarrash with hatred upon his features. No words had been exchanged.
Now as Lucifus floated agitatedly in his Grandee’s Cottage having saved her remains from the random behaviour of the dissolving tribal factions, he looked down despondently upon her rent corpse. While he had cleansed the mud and spattered blood from her beheaded body, her skin had slowly lost its natural radiance once held in life, tinged and dulled. The fading of this last small mote of a life once lived signalled the erosion of many emotions in Lucifus, leaving behind a desolate and bitter terrain. Anger, blame, denial and a variety of emotions struck Lucifus as he struggled to deal with his loss, Ugari’s life wrenched from his. Now as he looked down upon her half naked and headless body, he wanted release from the emotional trap and landscape he found himself in. He felt like he could not mourn or grieve, the pain of defeat too much for his senses to cope with. As usual, the basic human motivation was to strive for resolution. Also as usual, this resolution was normally only found in the cold comforting embrace of unreserved revenge.
At this point, Lucifus’s thoughts travelled in several directions as his faculties of logic overtook those of emotion. Firstly was getting to the bottom of what had actually occurred. He had heard that she had been killed by everything from a spirit ghost to a barbarian out of control to himself: her only lover. What he knew was that the Pianatha were more than likely behind the assassination with Karodo at the centre of the hideous web. Secondly was his own protection. He had now set up a range of arcane protections to warn of any nearby intruders. He had a large number of summonings, scrolls and magics at his disposal if anyone got too intrusive or fractious. And lastly, his enslavement to the ideals of revenge was absolute as he made preparations for vengeance. While his drawing of Sarrash to the prime had not proceeded according to intention or planning, he still had several options at his disposal. Lucifus had pulled out a myriad of scrolls, parchments and tomes collected from some of the farthest reaches of the known world in his now driven and direst pursuit. He would personally wipe the Pianatha off the face of the planet.
Something then set off a tinkling alarm in Lucifus’s crowded mind. He had visitors.
***
On the outskirts of the Strauchn territory; the final capitulation and dissolving of the Strauchn occurs merely hours after the assassination of Ugari…
Tunthi lifted Gnasa over his head in exhaustion but victory. By his side and defending his back, Murga – the now former cook of the Strauchn - held his very large stick at the crowd of former clansmen that surrounded them. They had killed several challengers and numerous others lay stricken on the grassy surrounds, several boulders bearing witness to the savagery. The tension had risen to the point where several barbarians in the crowd withdrew in defeat. Tunthi yelled at the cowards as the crowd then thinned dramatically. Murga provided an interesting contrast, his massive biceps and cords of muscle passive but the threat on his face was enough to halt any last moment heroics. It had been the third time their group had been attacked by other factions within the clan. Now there were only two of them left and while Murga was in reasonable health, his leader Tunthi had blood running down his back from what should have been a mortal wound, just to the side of his spine. Tunthi in his usual way ignored the damage continuing to exhort his victory as the rest of the crowd scattered in various directions.
“Cowards. They run like fleas.” Tunthi exclaimed.
Murga grunted looking at Tunthi’s back and shaking his head. His own wounds were serious with numerous cuts and broken fingers and ribs. With a grim face he turned to Tunthi.
“We won’t make it to Jengus. I tell you now, we must seek tuk-tuk’s help.”
Tunthi looked down at his left arm, almost totally covered in blood, most of which must have been his own. The bravado of just moments before had quickly evaporated. “Tuk-tuk not like Tunthi. Tuk-tuk not help.”
Murga shook his head as he helped Tunthi, the massive warrior’s muscles cramping in exhaustion.
“We will go to him. I believe he will want revenge. I think he will help us… unleash his pet upon Pianatha.”
Tunthi had now faded, leaning heavily on the doughty warrior beside him. Murga had been a staunch ally to the clan leader – almost to the point where their relationship could be considered a friendship – not that there was any formal concept of this amongst the barbarian tribes. He now led Tunthi back to find the tuk-tuk spirit master, their initial journey of revenge stalled by those of their former clan more interested in the petty inner-clan squabbles than the loss of their Shamaness. The burning for revenge heated Murga’s blood, as well as that of Tunthi’s; what little blood there was left in their exhausted frames.
***
Later Inside Lucifus’s Dwelling…
Murga looked at the body of the Shamaness, raw emotion stark upon his hardened features. Lucifus was tending to Tunthi, making dissatisfied exclamations here and there beyond either of the half-orcs understanding or capacity.
“He will die and die soon”, said Lucifus bluntly in the guttural Derman tongue. “There is nothing more I can do to ease his passage to your spirit world. I am not a healer.”
Murga, as tough as the granite that made up the foundation of the headland shook his head. “He cannot die. I have seen him take worse than this and survive.”
Interested by the half-orc’s unusually expanded vocabulary, Lucifus spoke further. “I agree. He is different to others. He should never have survived his ascension to leadership. His wounds that day would have killed a bull.”
Murga, stoic as ever leaned over, his face barely expressing the pain of losing his Clan’s flame and then leader in one foul day. “If that is what the spirit’s wish then so shall it be.”
Distracted, Lucifus thought for a moment upon Murga’s utterance; something about the statement disturbed him. While Lucifus had the utmost respect for Ugari’s abilities – her talent to reach beyond was the sole reason for his presence in this barbaric land – he could still not reconcile their fascination with perverse prophecies and the focus they placed upon the spirits and their fates and the intertwined destinies they supposedly held. Lucifus’s philosophy on destiny was completely reversed in comparison. To him, life, power, love and lust were there to be taken by those who endeavoured and achieved, not those who clung to ideals of destiny like a runt to a starving mother’s teat. Damn their prophecies! They had taken Ugari from him but that is where it would stop. Lucifus’s manner was precise and passionate as he spoke once more, “There is something I will do to save Tunthi from a death not of his choosing.” Lucifus looked into Murga’s eyes daring him to suggest otherwise, the massive half-orc backing away slightly at the Tuk-tuk’s vehemence and zeal.
“But you just said…”
“Damn what I just said. I have something that may work but that I had not intended to use… at least not for this purpose.”
Murga just looked on before saying something to break the several moments of silence, “He will survive? You can save him?”
“You just ****ing watch me.”
Lucifus stepped over to where several chests lay against the wall of the stone cottage. Inside was a scroll, tattered with age but still crackling with arcane potential. It was a summoning spell of the highest degree. Lucifus unfurled its length, gazing at arcane representations that were familiar but uncomfortably beyond his natural power. Like most of his scrolls and possessions, they were once his master’s. He rolled it up once more emplacing it upon the table on top of a myriad of other arcane equipment. He wondered then whether this course of action would actually work. Looking at Tunthi’s spent body followed by Ugari’s several steps away, he knew it must. Lucifus then prepared for the undoubtedly hostile and tensive atmosphere that would soon pervade the small dwelling. He would seek the aid of a celestial.
A short time later with Tunthi’s shallow and laboured breathing failing, Lucifus intoned the specific measure of the scroll with perfection{5}. Murga backed away defensively at the sudden celestial appearance and magnificent visage of a Leonal. Its white mane and regal features projected a majestic aura into the dwelling. It made no move to attack anything or anyone; its powerful arms were crossed, awaiting instruction or something – its features grim and of stone. Lucifus uncomfortably floated back ever so slightly to allow the celestial space inside the cramped quarters of the cottage.
“I am glad you have arrived at such a dire time as this. As you can see, someone requires your attention and aid. If you could but apply curatives to his tortured body.”
The Leonal did not move; not even by the twitch of a whisker.
Murga looked on in concern, his hands reaching for his big stick.
“Murga, do not touch your weapon if you value your life”, Lucifus quickly warned. He then faced the celestial.
“I understand your reticence. However, please understand the nature of the magics that have delivered you here. Please do not force me to enforce the bindings of the contract upon…”
“You understand very little mortal”, roared the Leonal as he gently and gracefully bent his knee to place a hand upon Tunthi’s ruptured body. A glow radiated from underneath the celestial’s clawed hand as the life that had seeped from Tunthi’s frame was restored completely; his many injuries healed as cleanly as if they had never happened. Tunthi gazed up at the leonine beast above him but the celestial grace of the Leonal stilled his questioning features. With not a single word, the Leonal motioned to Murga and applied the grace of the heavens upon his body, this time the gradual process of healing different from the almost instantaneous magics applied to Tunthi.
Having finished his healings, the regal manner of the Leonal once more applied itself to Lucifus in the Ambornan tongue. “You have forsaken the heavens mortal yet now you seek her aid. I have been charged with giving you a precise message that I suggest you heed and heed carefully. By the laws of the heavens, understand that the power of the celestials is a gift that is offered, not a prize to be taken. Retribution will be swiftly sought if you wish to transgress upon the will of the Gods mortal. In essence, change your life utterly if you wish the Heavens to answer your call once more.”
With this the appearance of the Leonal winked out leaving the stone cottage once more in a dingy and shadowy light.
Lucifus looked a little peaked having been chastised and targeted so specifically by the Leonal and from all accounts the Heavens. Disconcertingly, he realised that his behaviour had obviously attracted celestial notice and attention. The look upon the two barbarians faces however told a different story. Not understanding the message delivered from the heavens to Lucifus, they both were in awe and reverence at his power.
“Tuk-tuk heal Tunthi. Tunthi like tuk-tuk”, said the former clan leader. Murga while not adding to these obviously felt similar sentiments to the miracle he had just witnessed. Never before had they seen healing of that magnitude{6}. Murga glanced curiously at the floating man who seemed to all of a sudden go ill and deathly pale. Lucifus could only manage a small quiet exclamation.
“Oh ****”
The questioning glances of the Derman pair were stalled by Lucifus grabbing several items as quickly as he could.
“What’s wrong?” asked Tunthi.
Lucifus did not answer but his frenetic activity had the two barbarians looking questioningly at each other. Perhaps this was a curious part of the ritual: strange tuk-tuk behaviour being the natural classification and consensus. Lucifus then stopped and ordered the pair. “You, grab that chest and you, grab that one”. The pair once more looked strangely at the pointing Lucifus until he ordered them on the pain of death.
What they did not know or realise that Lucifus perceived all too well was that Sarrash had somehow at that instant broken the Bindings of Arcadys. What they could not see that Lucifus viewed with all clarity through the cottages tiny window was the sudden teleported movement of the massive devil to within striking distance of the cottage. They were all about to die.
***
{5} While any summoning prepared and cast by Lucifus would reach for the furthest realms of the cosmos, scrolls crafted by non-alienists would lack this mystical augmentation resulting in a “standard” summoning. The scroll currently being referred to was a classic “Pervashi’s Unhindered Calling” or more colloquially: “Summon Monster IX”.
{6} Ugari had a small amount of mystical healing at her disposal whilst she graced the soil of Derman. However, it was rarely used and only upon the most dramatic of occasions.
***
Responses and Discourse
I know it makes this update a little long but I figure that if you guys take the time to read this and post up enthusiastic comments, the least I can do is respond to them hopefully adding a few extra tid-bits of information too.
pogre said:
I see you have followed the advice you left for Sep. I heartily approve and look forward to whatever writing you care to post. Have a great holiday!
Hey Glauron,
I love it when fellow players pipe up in a story hour - be sure to comment often on your perspective. Assuming it doesn't annoy Herreman too much
Bumped for the impending massive 5,000 word+ update about to hit.
No really...
REALLY!
Unfortunately, I went against my own advice this time and went for the big update. I wanted to make sure I developed everything how I wanted it preparing for the culmination of all these separate threads into one explosive finale. I hope I’ve set it up well enough.
As for Glauron101 [aka Father Brian of Galasso], bah… don’t listen to a single word out of his mouth, as they are all lies.
{Sorry Glauron}
Actually, it will be good to see his perspective on things – although we all know him for a goody two shoes of Galasso.
Thanks for the bump too – it makes you feel so good to think people actually care about the story you’re trying to tell.
Mortepierre said:
Eh, I would never have guessed from your style that you were writing from down under!
As for me, all I'll say is
Oh, aye, and that I have updated my own SH as a result of your numerous praises as well.
Good to see you’re still here for the ride. It’s going to get a little bumpy so hang on. As for my style, I didn’t realise Australians really had a style. Like most things, be it cooking, wine or many things Australian seems to mean a montage of many different flavours and influences from elsewhere.
As for your own SH, looking forward to any update you care to add – hopefully soon.
HalfOrc HalfBiscuit said:
Consider my appetite well and truly whetted.
I await satiation .....
I hope you have enjoyed the feast above. While it has taken me over a month to write, it has been pretty difficult to get it exactly how I want it; it has seen that many edits, it is simply not funny. Some of the ideas though I had to get just right and like a dog with a bone, I could not post it until I was completely happy with it. Look forward to further comment from you.
Glauron101 said:
Wandering Cleric Arrives
"So this explains the origins of the nefarious Lucifus Cray.
Well may ye seek the forgiveness of Galasso.
Know ye that His obedient servant Father Brian MacPhail sees and observes.
I shall continue to scry your past."
Nice work by the way Herremann/Lucifus. I reckon that in game terms you're at least 40,000 words behind. Something for your growing readership to look forward to. Hehehe, no doubt you shall inform them in due course of the high regard in which Father Brian holds Lucifus.
Just so your readers know, at the start of these posts Father Brian was a L11 cleric. That was 13 x 8 hour sessions ago. Keep writing Herremann.
As you know, I've been reading this all along. I finally managed to get access to the site to reply. Wohoo. I promise I will give no spoilers.
pogre said:
Hey Glauron,
I love it when fellow players pipe up in a story hour - be sure to comment often on your perspective. Assuming it doesn't annoy Herreman too much
I shall be only too happy to do this, once Herremann reaches the part where Lucifus and Father Brian begin to interact on a more regular basis.
You've seen only a smidgin of that very early in this story hour thread. Father Brian was against Lucifus joining the group. Incidentally Herremann/Lucifus did an outstanding job of 'introducing' his character to the rest of the party.
The interplay between Lucifus and Father Brian is "strained"
I look forward to hearing Lucifus's take on this and will most assuredly respond. Despite the many deficiencies in character that Lucifus has displayed thus far. I do not expect him to wander too far from the truth.
Re: Hannibal King
Other points will no doubt be responded to by Herremann. I think it appropriate that I, as an other player, respond.
Beside Lucifus, there are 5 other gamers. I am the newbie, having only had 15 sessions in this adventure. At least one other character, Demar Alorr, has a very lengthy background that would rival Lucifus's. Two others have had the same character almost since the campaign began. The fifth player has retired several characters and is now playing a rather tough dwarf. Everyone puts a lot into their character background, and none of us resent Herremann's attention to detail as regards Lucifus.
Father Brian has a past too. He was assigned to the group by his order when he was a lowly L9 cleric, now L15. The others didn't really pry too deeply into his background. They do know he was the sole survivor from another group of adventurers, and occassionally goes off on a guilt trip. He's cautions, suspicious, conservative. Nobody is game to ask him what happened, though Lucifus might if he reads this (Lucifus is insensitive). He is a very good cook. Likes food and wine. Hates violence, but has been known to have a rush of blood.
The DM most definitely does not focus his campaign around Lucifus. He is a great DM and mirrors the effort and involvement of the individual PCs. At present we all seem to be swept along by events, and not pursuing any individual agenda.
Since Herremann the Paladin retired from our group over ideological differences, events seem to centre around Demar Alorr. I am certain that Lucifus will make an impression though.
So Lucifus’s “target practice tool” decides to turn up and give his thoughts.
Actually, it’s good to have you here for the ride too. I have a feeling that this Story Hour is starting to go places in terms of interest so apply your silly “pawn-of-Galasso’s” thoughts where appropriate. [This is too much fun!]
As for Lucifus enquiring about Father Brian’s past – how do you know he already has not? I thought I alluded to this quite nicely in the earlier postings. As for how this comes out in the end, we will have to see. I warn others reading this that the relationship between Lucifus and Father Brian is strained at best (although that between Glauron101 and myself is very good – we try to meet for lunch once a week where we can).
I look forward to your further comments.
Angel of Adventure said:
Hey Herremann,
So it the Tomb of Horrors upcoming, or what? I hope you guys do it as it is an awesome adventure! (Protect the Cleric at all costs!!!!)
I don’t want to say too much – there is a lot of ground to cover before we get there. However, I might have to change the title to
Lucifus Cray and the Return to the Tomb of Horrors much to Destan’s disappointment.
As for protecting the Cleric, he can look after himself and be mulcted for healing where appropriate. As for Lucifus, if he bites the big one, I’m not entirely sure he will be coming back. He has many enemies who would love nothing more than to use his soul as a plaything. I think pdmiller the DM might make getting Lucifus back a little difficult. Besides which, I don’t think Father Brian would want to do it anyway – except just to have the satisfaction of killing Lucifus himself.
Hannibal King said:
Hey Herremann. This may be a really dumb question but can I assume that all parts of your storty hour that DON'T involve the other players are just made up stories?
If so do any of the other players go into this much detail with their background characters? and if not do they resent you for it, especially when the DM focuses adventures around your background?
I had two players who wrote big backgrounds like yours and I would try an accomadate them whenever I could, the other players who didn't bother with BGs tended to not mind, or at least they never complained to me about the lack of focus on their BG-less characters. Personnaly I love to see this creativity in character BGs, it makes for great reading.
Anyway as I mentioned in my "Roll Call: Aussie Enworlders" thread if you need another player I am desperately seeking another group. Let me know. cool?
Hannibal King
Thanks for posting – I really appreciate any and all input. The background arc in the treacherous lands of Derman is quite important to introducing Lucifus’s perspective on a variety of things so when the in-game action continues, you guys are up with why Lucifus acts the way he does – although I’d like to think it’s a good yarn anyway. In answer to your question though, it is just a made up story. I gave the DM a fairly elaborate background and this story is effectively filling in the gaps.
As for other players, I think all of our players like to create and do things away from the group – we all seem to like the inventiveness of it all. In regards to bothering the other players, I try not to let all this stuff have too much weight on proceedings. If anything, it has been fun revealing Lucifus’s back-story, teasing and tantalising the other PCs with out of campaign information that they suspect but can’t really act upon. Boy would Father Brian like to use some of this stuff against Lucifus.
As for another player, I apologise that I have not responded further. This particular campaign is really not my province and is pretty much “full”. However, if anything separate comes up, you sound like you would be a perfect fit for our group in terms of how you play and your interests. I hope to hear from you soon.
Destan said:
I just have to pop in to say something I've been meaning to say ever since pogre's and mortepierre's pimps brought this yarn to my attention:
The Happenings of Lucifus Cray is the best damned story hour title out there.
It's worthy of a book in itself. I've already yoinked the name for an upcoming campaign of my own.
Good stuff, good story, good gaming group.
Now, allow me to waddle off into lurker mode once more.
Fat D
Thank you so much for delurking and commenting with such praise, it means a lot coming from someone whose writing and talent I appreciate so much. I hope you don’t mind me “yoinking” your comments into my sig. They really are highly appreciated.
I hope you enjoy the tale and the adventures to come.
Feel free to delurk when and where you wish.
pdmiller said:
The Cray thing....
Hey Herremen, been a while since I checked in and read your SH, it's developed nicely! Hurry up and bring it to the "present" please, I'm enjoying it immensely. I think your writing is getting better and better, and I'm particularly looking forward to your account of Vilmi's unfortunate outing with Nemhan and Titus.
By way of explanation, I am the DM running Lucifus' game... or is it the other way around.
Even I'm not sure how Lucifus gets out of this one!
Nice to see another player on the thread too, thanks for your kind words Glauron...
Someone should bring Angel of Adventure's comment re ToH to Dave's attention, maybe it will ease Nemhan's inexplicable knee-knocking somewhat....
I’m glad you’re enjoying this too. Can I just warmly say how good this guy is in terms of DMing. I suppose a lot of our perspectives on the D&D game are similar but really, it is the world you have painfully and magnificently crafted and allowed me to “mess around” with that really forms the spine of this Story Hour. The fantastic contribution of the other PCs in future instalments lends such a wonderful counterbalance to Lucifus’s activities. This story hour would be nothing without the efforts of the other players – so thank you to you all.
As for getting to the present – I’ll get there as quickly as possible (I’ve half written a lot of the material so things should speed along nicely with more frequent updates forthcoming.)
As for my writing, it’s slowly improving. I feel I get a little indulgent sometimes so its something I try to watch.
As for Vilmi’s little excursion with Titus and Nemhan, I am already smiling at what I will be looking forward to write. And as for reducing Nemhan’s knee-knocking, if Lucifus had a greater wisdom than 6, he might be thinking twice himself.
As for Lucifus getting out of this one, you’ll just have to wait and see – I did tell in my back-story to you that he had a little extra baggage compared to the average PC .
Best Regards
Herremann the Wise
![:]](http://www.enworld.org/forum/images/smilies/devious.png "Devious :]")
, fortunately I am a humble servant of Galasso.
