The Drawing of the Threads of Fate
Upon the battered headland once of the Strauchn, a hidden boy witnesses the annihilation of all he knows…
He had no name.
Scared, he had carefully buried himself under one of the many boulders dotting the landscape of the headland high above the crashing waves of the sea below. A hollow had been formed underneath the massive stone with a small muddy gap on either side. Through one sodden opening was the nearby rock dwelling used by the strange spirit man from across the sea. Through the other far in the distance was the spirit beast that had been trapped by the same spirit man. Even from such a great range the horrific image of the beast utterly terrified him.
The rain of the night and morning had stopped, replaced by an afternoon of unspeakable gloom. The boy had hidden under the boulder as the axe and stick fights had ensued across the foreground. The dead had just been left upon the muddy ground beyond. Normally, the fights between those with names{1} amongst the clan were exciting, brutal and inspiring. The ragged, manic explosion of violence accompanying the death of the Shamaness and thus the death of the Strauchn clan however had filled the young boy with fear. The warriors with names were just killing each other, momentarily grouping together in accord before breaking apart once more in rabid violence. He looked at the nearest body to him; a clansman he did not recognise or know. The head looked directly at the boy at a bizarre angle, the eyes staring blankly in death, the body bordered by dark muddy crimson.
There was a large, immaculately worked fighting stick in the sludge next to the body; most likely the weapon he held in life. The boy looked at the weapon, licking his lips with avarice. He thought several times of just going out and grabbing it before crawling back under the huge stone. However, it was far enough away from the boulder that he feared to risk exposing himself to the sporadic attention upon the sward. The temptation of claiming the weapon could not persuade him out from under the boulders hollow.
It was then that a deafening rip and crackle of lightning made the boy push deeper into the mire. His muddied shanks gripped the sodden earth, before his head slowly craned towards the gap. He intended but a single glance. With his head just above the slight opening, he could see the spirit nightmare yonder. It was violently moving in its position, straining and struggling and forcing its arms and claws upwards, invisible chains restricting its movements as the fracturing of energy crackled across the sward. As the boy completely fascinated looked once more, he thought the creature to appear… more vivid, more alive. In the gloom, the creature strained against its bindings once more, a thundering crack and splintering of purest energy tearing the air between the glowing ground underneath it and its terrible claws. It howled in agony as it continued to fight the last vestige of magic grasping and clutching it. Then in a moment of pure terror, it finally roared in victorious pain as it suddenly rent the bonds around it with a sweeping arc of its twisting unbound claws.
Sarrash was free.
As the boy looked to the distant image of the beast, the creature instantaneously disappeared. The sound of an explosion on the other side of the boulder forced the boy deep down into the mud once more, burying himself underneath the protective stone. While he could not see the rage of Sarrash, he could hear the horrific blasts and feel the terrible trembling of the creature’s claws smashing apart the ground so near to him. With his whitened knuckles clenched to breaking, the boy dared to steal a timid glimpse at the creature’s devestation. He saw that the stones of the spirit man’s dwelling had been smashed and strewn like so many pebbles by the beast.
As the creature’s frustrated blows intensified, the strange building of rocks was completely ripped asunder. The deafening roar of anger bellowed towards the boy as he froze in pure terror not being able to pull himself down once more. Fixed and frozen, all he could see was the rotting massive hooves the size of boulders gouging deep into the sodden ground in front of him. The putridly massive maggot-like parasites that invaded and tunnelled through the beast’s body plunged quickly through the infernal hooves into the mud penetrating the ground immediately in front of his boulder.
Sarrash turned.
As the ripened anger of momentarily losing the mortal ever so slightly receded, Sarrash smelt and now sensed other souls that would suffice for the nonce. It would gorge upon them first before turning its attention once more to the mortal delicacy that had tried to incarcerate it. In a single motion of rabid hunger, it swiped aside the boulder crushing the small body underneath it. With the soul trapped and pinned by its infernal touch, Sarrash picked up the fleshy rags that remained of the small mortal. It dropped the flesh and bones into its maw with gouts of acrid salivation wetly soaking the ground below. The agonised, screaming features of the child’s soul glistened newly wet as a distorted image upon Sarrash’s rotting hide – the soul captured for eternity. It was a start to a reaping such as the prime had not seen before.
***
{1} The Derman warrior culture was perhaps best represented by their simplistic system of naming. A warrior could only claim a name when they had killed in battle. As such, the rite of passage of younger warriors mortally blooding their weapons was perhaps the moment of greatest import in a young warrior’s life. The claiming of a name was the true ascension from youngling to clansman.
Interestingly, names tended to be localised and oft repeated – it was common for warriors to take the name of the warrior they had killed. Additionally due to a lack of historical knowledge in terms of myths and legends, the range of names was poorly limited and generally held little actual meaning, substance, import or function.
Naming for most females in the clan is also a subject of interest for the dedicated scholar or anthropologist. In accord with their subservient role within the clan, most females would live their entire lives without name or title. They were just mere chattel for use by others within the clan to be used and abused without favour or position. The women of course had a hierarchy amongst themselves that was followed more so than a system of nomenclature. At times complex, inconclusive and aberrant in nature, this confusing hierarchy is beyond the scope of all except for those very few anthropologists at the pinnacle of their profession.
***
Freshly teleporting next to a fetid lake of haunted water deep within the territory of the Pianatha, three figures look around at their new surroundings…
Murga looked incomprehensively at the surrounding scene: a wooded valley cut deeply into the surrounding mountains, at its base a lake of black, stale water. Tunthi whose feet almost broached the lake’s edge dropped the massive chest in shock, completely ignorant of the nature of the magic that transported them here. The haunting placidity across the valley was quickly broken as the wet slap of the ancient chest owned by a long succession of arcane masters echoed in the gloom pervading the deep valley. With the dark ambience interrupted, a group of nearby Pianatha tribesman reacted with immediacy to the group of intruders. With their strange ritual to Heng’ mara Gash (The Lake of Souls) precluded by the clamour, they advanced down the adjacent mountainside bearing spears and clubs in absolute fury.
In short order however, the battle cries of the locals were quickly silenced; the lakeside perimeter once more freshened with the blood of the dying. The bulk had fallen within but a few heartbeats to Murga’s whirling staff and Tunthi’s devastating axe blade. The pair started chasing the stragglers who had quickly begun to retreat but were beaten by Lucifus. His black-cloaked body calmly stretched forth an arm; his hand releasing empowered magic. The small group of retreating Pianatha were blown apart by a sonically fuelled concussion of energy, the reverberation more felt from a distance than heard. With his mind quickly forcing away previous thoughts of his recent near-death and the closely avoided eternal torture of his soul at the hands of the recently loosed Sarrash, Lucifus coolly looked across at the mangled bodies to a place strangely familiar – although he had never floated above its soil before {2}.
Lucifus floated to the bodies lying on the shoreline, unperturbed when one defiantly pushed itself up to avoid drowning in the thick mud. The warrior looked up at him with half his face missing, painfully replaced by a crimson bloody mask. Circling his body was a cord of some ceremonial but unknown significance. In an act of truculent defiance, the Pianathan snarled at the arcanist’s hovering approach. Lucifus’s response was to push his hand directly into the native’s face, unleashing an explosion of magic and smashing the brains out the back of the tribesman’s skull {3}. The body collapsed for a final time into the mire.
“They will know we are here. Their Shaman is no fool”, Lucifus quietly spoke in the Derman tongue. “Quick. Move my chests out of the muck and to higher ground.”
There was a clenched terseness to his voice, impelled by the presumed loss of many items of power back in his cottage {4}. The two chests they carried as well as his small magical pack represented the tattered remains of his former master’s collection. Through theft, poor choices and all manner of circumstances, he had frittered away the magnificent collection into the paltry assortment in front of him. Lucifus looked around, assuming the teleportation had gained them a small period of time before Sarrash caught up with them once more. He would quickly establish what was left and useable and make his preparations. Lucifus was hopeful that he had enough magical power left to blow away the remains of the Pianatha and in particular their Clan leader and the Shaman shadowing him.
***
{2} Lucifus had been shown this place by Ugari in a strange vision. His teleportation to this area was extremely fortunate. However, like in most things, Lucifus has always seemed to strangely enjoy the bounties of fate and fortune.
{3} While a Dorji’s Unwavering Pulse (a magic missile spell) is no more magically effective when cast directly adjacent to the target (through touch) compared to at range; the overall drama, significance and explosive display is far more impressive.
{4} Lucifus had also presumed (incorrectly) the loss of his raven Winter, his only ever familiar.
***
Deep in the Cave of Karodo, the Exultation of Victory Continues…
Karodo leaned forward as the feint shadows of several spirits struggled against him; they were held tight by his power. He had just learnt from them of the Strauchn spirit creature’s devastating escape and plunder. The Strauchn killed and destroyed by their own hand, the foreigner who had called the spirit destroyed by his own pet. Karodo swelled with satisfaction and malice, having divined the foreigner’s failure and thus the reaffirmed sealing of his victory. He perceived the pure symbolism of the moment as fate drew its various threads to his liking. The beast would now gorge itself with the remains of his enemy before harmlessly wallowing back to whichever former existence it enjoyed; such was as Karodo had just divined.
The horns protruding from Karodo’s eyes waxed and ached with glorious pain. He could feel his power swelling to the rhythms of fate.
Author’s Sidenote:
Unfortunately for Karodo, he had underestimated the creature’s attachment to the prime as well as over-estimated its ability to casually deal with the foreigner Lucifus. Another factor that Karodo was ignoring was the unusual reticent silence of the demon that currently possessed him. It had not even voiced the simplest platitude since news of the large spirit creature’s plunder of the Strauchn. Karodo however in his passionate and megalomaniacal fervour was directing his efforts to his future plans of dominion over the entire Derman peninsula and beyond. Less enthusing thoughts of possible peril were suppressed and dismissed; other factors being neglected entirely in complete ignorance.
***
On the Periphery of the Pianathan Land, Jengus Investigates a Recent Disturbance with Several of his Most Trusted Warriors…
Jengus had moved his gigantic frame with power and grace as he scouted into the low lying and haunted valley. He slowed and cloaked himself as the slightly forested area eventually gave way at its base to the body of water, named as Heng’ mara Gash or “The Lake of Souls”. The blood of thousands of sacrificial Pianatha as well as countless enemies had nourished the valleys soil before the moons had even begun to tread their skyward path. Since this ancient time, countless oaths and vows had been given upon its shoreline – souls ceded and pacts made to the powers of darkness that dwelled in this haunted place.
As Jengus carefully maintained his hidden position at the edge of the trees in the dull afternoon light, he could see several figures on the other side of the lake, high up the mountainside sheltering within several craggy protrusions. He had seen all of them recently, immediately recognising Tunthi of the Strauchn from earlier that day upon the Strauchn henge. However, the sight of the floating foreigner directing the other two gave him pause. Jengus could not understand how they could be here so quickly, so close to the heart of the Pianatha {5}. They must have had great spiritual magic at their disposal.
If the foreign spirit-man had survived the terrible creature he had seen upon their sward or even worse had control of it, then he would certainly be of power and far too dangerous. Although… as Jengus sat hidden evaluating their movements, he could tell by their demeanour that they were rushed and not at ease. They had not made significant efforts to remain unseen in the approaching twilight, which could mean almost anything. Jengus’s pulse started racing in blood lust. He had little doubt he could crush the two warriors single-handed, but the spirit man was perhaps another matter. He would be best to seek guidance from his master on the matter.
Jengus backed quietly into the tree line before joining up with those fearsome warriors of his personal cadre who he had held back earlier. Each represented a particular faction within the Pianatha clan although all ceded extreme respect, honour and loyalty to their leader Jengus. Each had performed some ritual of allegiance by Heng’ mara Gash binding themselves to their clan - be it some measure of ceremonial scarification or overt mutilation upon their bodies. They grunted at their leader’s approach.
Jengus performed a symbol for silence as the six tough and menacing warriors looked expectantly upon their massive leader. Jengus indicated nothing further but instead bent down upon his knee pulling a dark skin from behind him. The small pouch was actually made from the scrotum of one of the various predatory beasts that killed clansmen for sport – and obviously vice versa. He unstoppered the pouch with one hand as with the other, he wiped a flattened recess into the soil. He then poured the dark fluid into the hollow on the ground and waited.
The blood of some unknown entity lay viscously still, not seeping into the ground but instead emanating a feint wispy shadow of smoke as the magics about it initiated. The warriors looked on at the spirit gift given to their leader by their shaman. Most had seen such strangeness before although given present circumstances and their vicinity to “The Lake of Souls”; this was particularly eerie for the normally stoic clansmen. The smoke receded, as the surface of the small pool of blood glistened with a strange reflection.
“It is I master,” intoned Jengus. The face of Karodo appeared in relief, his distorted face even further disfigured by the unusual medium. Jengus waited for some unperceived signal before continuing.
“There is danger at the Heng’ mara Gash. Two of the Strauchn, one their former leader as well as the foreign spirit man await unmolested nearby. I have…”
Jengus’s communication was unexpectedly halted, the momentary shock upon the Shaman’s face unseen by the Pianathan leader before the fluid quickly seeped into the ground. Whatever magic had held it there evaporated with the Shaman’s lack of control. Jengus however, not fully understanding the reasons nor ramifications of his master’s behaviour stood up, his foot angrily kicking the soil in frustration at the wasted magics.
With a lack of further instruction, Jengus looked around and gathered his men close. They planned the imminent deaths of the three intruders.
***
{5} The Lake of Souls was in the valley immediately adjacent to its twin that held the bulk of the Pianathan tribe. While the main valley was graced by the mountain river of Torus running through its length, the Lake of Souls was a place of evil for the dead and dying, its stagnant filthy water leeching the life from everything around it. Unlike the crisp almost beautiful lines of the twin valley of the Pianatha next to it, Heng’ mara Gash was formed as if the ground had been sucked away by some massive dark entity. The Pianatha avoided the place in the main except for those performing certain duties, rituals obligations or responsibilities across its width.
***
Correspondence
Firstly may I apologise for my incredibly late update. Between work, a funeral, planning for my own campaign as well as a dozen other lame excuses, I have been swamped and inattentive to this story hour. I won't make any promises for the future that will in all likelihood just be broken once more. However, recently, work has eased, personal issues have been dealt with and my own campaign is taking a slight break while our group returns once more to the lands of Urth and the Happenings of Lucifus Cray. In short, "I'm Back".
Ero Gaki said:
Yo, Herremann, any chance of you and your group posting a rogues gallery? I'd really enjoy seeing the numbers behind your characters.
I've been meaning to do this for a while. Unfortunately as I am a player and not the DM of this magnificent campaign, it is somewhat awkward providing the usual rogue's gallery information. However, once I have completed the current story arc, I will start a concerted program of ferreting out the requested information. I suppose as well I'm a little bit wary of making Lucifus Cray open to the group as well. There are particular things I would prefer them not knowing.
Glauron101 said:
Well you can all see my dilemma...
Piffle, whining and poppycock. The powers of the Multiverse will protect Lucifus Cray as he ascends beyond your God's comprehension...
or something like that.
Rikandur Azebol said:
Excellent storyhour, Harremann.
And as for Your trouble with Shamans. Chmm ... I had this issue sometime ago and come to such conclusion (In a homebrew where were no Spellslingers except Demons/Angels but Players were allowed to use magic anyway):
Make them Experts, expertising in all stuff religious/sacred to Tribes they belong to.
Use rules from the Book of Vile Darkness about the Sacrifices ... and transform it a little, so all aligments could use them. Not just Evil ones.
Give requirment of Focus for magic stored for later (Magic Item ! )
And Viola ! Here are our snivelling Goblin Shamans casting their bad Ju Ju ! At nasty adventurers crossing their path.
The Book of Vile Darkness is such a treasured tome by our DM. Your suggestions of its use however are duly noted. In fact they have given me a few ideas for Lucifus's current situation. Laughs as Lucifus thinks about casting bad Ju Ju Father Brian's way.
ragboy said:
Good to have you aboard and hope you keep enjoying.
Elder-Basilisk said:
Well, I've just discovered this and since Herriman is obviously taking some kind of extended vacation, I'll just have to bump it and see if I can bring the story back to his attention.
Who knows, maybe we'll even get to the in-game story
Vacation.. if only.
I would then be able to write to my heart's content.
I'm supremely glad you have enjoyed the story so far. The climax of this background story is almost upon us. I can't wait to present what happens in terms of Tunthi and the group in game. Culture clash is most assuredly an understatement.
Fingers crossed I can produce a punctual update this time.
Mortpierre said:
Done, your turn now.
Ha ha. Now that the wheels of creativity are turning once more at their fullest pace, I return the charge of updating back to you - and well looking forward to it too.
Spider_Jerusalem said:
Hey Herremann. Loving the background heavy approach. The writing is very good, despite chunks of exposition, the chapters really do speed along at a fair pace. I'm really enjoying this.
Spider J
Thank you very much for the fine compliments. While I try to write something that's well paced, my perspective as the author is backward at best - how I read it and how you guys read it are two very separate things. All I can do is hope that people enjoy it. Spider J, I envy your ability to update so well and so regularly. If you can let me in on your secret
...
pogre said:
Herreman promised me a new update in the near future! Bumping it for easy reference for our beloved writer!
Sheepishly looks around
The update was provided but most unpuctually. Do not listen to my words, they are all lies when it comes to updating.
However, on a separate note, thank you very much for getting The Happenings of Lucifus Cray on the front page of Enworld and for your continued support. While I try to write for myself, having my efforts recognised does so much for the soul.
I hope you're still enjoying though. We're almost there...
Best Regards
Herremann the Wise
![:]](http://www.enworld.org/forum/images/smilies/devious.png "Devious :]")
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