The Liberation of Tenh (updated April 24)
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the_mighty_agrippa
First Post
heydricus! heydricus! heydricus!
Zaruthustran
The tingling means it’s working!
Yeah! That'll show them all that you're not a turncoat traitor!
-z
PS: nice update, (contact)! Love the bit between Lucius and H.
Elder-Basilisk
First Post
Nice touch too. The young baron Kalinstren is the one that the Liberators resurrected out of guilt isn't he? Apparently no good deed goes unpunished. . . .
(contact)
Explorer
Sadly, I am not that crafty, Elder-Basilsk. The young baronet that the Liberators so profitably returned to life was a Nyrondeese noble, and will probably never show his skinny hide in this story hour again.
Kalinstren is the Northernmost Furyondian demense-- it was lost to Iuz during the Greyhawk War (taken by none other than our old friend Zinvellon) and later retaken by Belvor during the Great Crusade. Belvor's success with the Great Crusade put Zinvellon in the position to requre a revival of the Temple of Elemental Evil in order to restore his reputation (and save his hind-end), which of course put that lazy sorcerer Heydricus on a crash course with destiny, and brought the Liberators to the attention of Belvor and the Furyondian throne.
Belvor, as we learned through the Provost Marshall Reine, bankrupted Furyondy in order to wage his Great Crusade, and has since defaulted on his debts to several Southern Lords, most notably Butrain.
Butrain, of course, is the Lord closest to the throne in the absence of an heir (and no one but the Circle of Four wizards -- Piscean being the sole survivor -- knows that Thrommel is still alive. Okay, *probably* alive. For now.)
When Crockport (Kalinstren's seat) was retaken during the Great Crusade, Belvor raised a former adventuring companion of his to the Barony, ostensibly to ensure that the realm would be powerfully and ably managed.
According to Reine, Belvor appointed her because she was filthy rich.
Now, her somewhat inept and dull son has been chosen by the Council of Lords to take the throne-- the Lords are quick to discount the claim of any Southern Lord, and mean to send a signal to Iuz that they intend to keep all of their land (despite the turmoil of losing a soverign). To the Baron Butrain it is the coldest slap in the face imaginable: They overlook his claim and put an up-jumped commoner on the throne?
No doubt, this piece of "advice" was designed by Piscean to do just what it did-- provoke a civil war and destabilize Furyondy even further.
But I don't think anybody involved could have predicted how quickly Butrain would act-- generally armies take months, not weeks to amass. Butrain's knightly blitzkreig will press the issue and force the Northern Lords and their young King to reply in kind-- the levees will not be called, and the mounted nobility will duke it out for the throne. It is a massively risky proposition, and the mark either of Butrain's genius or his greed (or both).
Should this military gambit prove fruitful, Butrain might end the month on the throne of Furyondy, or at least as much of the nation as he can will into order. The possiblity exists that Furyondy might fracture into several independant fiefdoms, much like Veluna and Verbobonc succeeded from the original realm of Ferrond.
Oh, the villany. Oh, the treachery.
The as$-kicking clouds gather on the horizon, and Heydricus' boot says "Piscean" on it. (Or at least he thinks it does, he can't actually see his feet underneath the battle-bulge in his trousers.)
Kalinstren is the Northernmost Furyondian demense-- it was lost to Iuz during the Greyhawk War (taken by none other than our old friend Zinvellon) and later retaken by Belvor during the Great Crusade. Belvor's success with the Great Crusade put Zinvellon in the position to requre a revival of the Temple of Elemental Evil in order to restore his reputation (and save his hind-end), which of course put that lazy sorcerer Heydricus on a crash course with destiny, and brought the Liberators to the attention of Belvor and the Furyondian throne.
Belvor, as we learned through the Provost Marshall Reine, bankrupted Furyondy in order to wage his Great Crusade, and has since defaulted on his debts to several Southern Lords, most notably Butrain.
Butrain, of course, is the Lord closest to the throne in the absence of an heir (and no one but the Circle of Four wizards -- Piscean being the sole survivor -- knows that Thrommel is still alive. Okay, *probably* alive. For now.)
When Crockport (Kalinstren's seat) was retaken during the Great Crusade, Belvor raised a former adventuring companion of his to the Barony, ostensibly to ensure that the realm would be powerfully and ably managed.
According to Reine, Belvor appointed her because she was filthy rich.
Now, her somewhat inept and dull son has been chosen by the Council of Lords to take the throne-- the Lords are quick to discount the claim of any Southern Lord, and mean to send a signal to Iuz that they intend to keep all of their land (despite the turmoil of losing a soverign). To the Baron Butrain it is the coldest slap in the face imaginable: They overlook his claim and put an up-jumped commoner on the throne?
No doubt, this piece of "advice" was designed by Piscean to do just what it did-- provoke a civil war and destabilize Furyondy even further.
But I don't think anybody involved could have predicted how quickly Butrain would act-- generally armies take months, not weeks to amass. Butrain's knightly blitzkreig will press the issue and force the Northern Lords and their young King to reply in kind-- the levees will not be called, and the mounted nobility will duke it out for the throne. It is a massively risky proposition, and the mark either of Butrain's genius or his greed (or both).
Should this military gambit prove fruitful, Butrain might end the month on the throne of Furyondy, or at least as much of the nation as he can will into order. The possiblity exists that Furyondy might fracture into several independant fiefdoms, much like Veluna and Verbobonc succeeded from the original realm of Ferrond.
Oh, the villany. Oh, the treachery.
The as$-kicking clouds gather on the horizon, and Heydricus' boot says "Piscean" on it. (Or at least he thinks it does, he can't actually see his feet underneath the battle-bulge in his trousers.)
Zaruthustran
The tingling means it’s working!
(contact) said:
"Battle bulge?"
Wow.
Reading a combat writeup in this story hour will never be the same.
-z
KidCthulhu
First Post
(contact) said:
Can't see his feet? Lucky Pris.
(contact)
Explorer
Extra large update!
Patchwall 4, CY 593
66—There’s no such thing as bad publicity.
“Yes, we’ll kill him, but first, we should get our gear,” Prisantha says.
“You’re right,” Heydricus admits. “I’ve got a holy spear that needs a wizard-skin sheath. Dabus, can you plane shift us to this Hyperborean whateverthef-ck?”
“I can,” Dabus says, and after the Liberators prepare defensive spells, he does so.
The Hyperborean Obverse is a flat, featureless plane of solid ice, extending in all directions as far as the eye can see, its low-hanging sky a reflective mirror. Several hundred yards away, a lone spire rises hundreds of feet above the surface, shaped more like an impossibly large ice stalagmite than any worldly structure.
“Well, it can’t be infinite,” Jespo sniffs. “It is a demi-plane, after all. I suspect an illusion—the whole place cannot be any larger than a mile or more. Oh, the vanity of wizards.”
As Jespo speaks, his voice trembles from his uncontrollable shivering, and his breath puffs out before his face—the Hyperborean Obverse is true to its name, a flat plane of bone-chilling cold. As the Liberators move toward the spire, the ice creaks ominously beneath their feet.
“Rotten ice,” Dabus curses.
“Hah,” Jespo says through chattering teeth. “Shoddy craftsmanship.” Regda puts her arm around the frail mage, and rubs his shoulders comfortingly.
“No, it’s a trap,” Prisantha says. “And we can’t all fly.”
“I have a solution,” Gwendolyn says. “I shall wish that we all be instantly and safely transported within ten feet of Heydricus’ portable hole.” She looks at her companions, then adds, “well, limited wish.”
------
Piscean is addressing the Lord’s Council from the floor, waving his staff grandly and clearly enjoying the thunderous response from Northern Furyondy’s most influential personages. Standing near him are several members of Belvor’s close circle of friends, including Malwyn, a powerful cleric of Heironeous, a former adventuring partner of the missing King.
Then the Liberators appear, all within ten feet of Piscean’s front pocket. As they orient themselves, the heroes look about them with crestfallen surprise.
“Oh, sh-t.” Gwendolyn says.
Piscean turns to the heroes, an expression of exaggerated shock and surprise on his face. “Have you come to surrender, you scoundrels?” the wizard demands in a voice loud enough for all to hear.
“We have come to expose you!” Pris replies, thinking quickly.
Heydricus seizes the moment, and pushes to the fore, raising his spear. “My lords,” he shouts. “We have been unjustly accused! Belvor’s assassin stands before you—the traitor is Piscean! Your treachery has reached its end this day, wretch. In the name of Tritherion I judge you guilty of murder and high treason!”
Piscean favors Heydricus with a brief smile, a queer look of pride on his face, before he turns to the assemblage. “Be not fooled by his lies, my Lords! Have I not warned you that these murderers would return? Have I not warned you that they would come to divide us on the eve of our greatest danger? Their lawlessness knows no bounds, and we must stand fast if we are to have our great peace!”
The chamber erupts into general outrage at this, and several members call for the guard. The Liberators fan out, ready for action. Prisantha and Jespo call to Lords they recognize and shout their support for Heydricus’ words, but Lucius remains perfectly still, staring at Piscean intently.
“Your lies end here, Piscean,” Heydricus replies. “My Lords, hear me! This man is the truth-killer! This is the wizard who betrayed his vows and murdered the other members of the Four! This is the traitor who imprisoned your King! Belvor lives, and is held in magical stasis by this wretch! Piscean meant to kill us as well, and place the blame upon our heads—but we did not commit this crime.” Heydricus raises his hands for silence. “My Lords, remember us! Have we not served you well? Have we not loved our King? We are true friends of Belvor, and we call upon all those who love Furyondy to cast his poison from their ears, and petition the gods for the truth!” At this, he turns to Malwyn. “My Lord, divine the truth of things—let us be judged here and now, and put this traitor to the question.”
Malwyn’s response is to place a hand on his mace, and step away from the Liberators, watching them warily.
“Pathetic!” Piscean shouts. “What hubris! What greed! They have slain our liege and bled our realm, but would still place a claim against our loyalty?” Then under his breath, he whispers to Heydricus. “Perfectly done. I applaud your timing.”
The room is filled with cries and confusion—guards pour into the amphitheater, and call for order as a hundred voices are raised against one another. In the midst of this chaos, Lucius calmly raises his crossbow and attempts to assassinate Piscean.
As his bolt streaks toward the throat of the mage, Piscean’s contingency activates, and a pair of spell effects take place; a cloud of tangible freezing mist rises up around him, foiling Lucius’ deadly bolt, and searing the skin of the Liberators and nearest High Lords with an intense cold. At the same time, a repulsion pushes against the Liberators, preventing them from closing with Piscean.
“Fools!” Piscean yells, pantomiming wildly, clearly unaffected by his spell. “You cannot harm me with your ice magics—I am the elementalist of flame!” The Lords begin to flee away from the freezing mist, but the fog itself is thick and substantial and hinders their flight. Several Lords fall to the ground, killed by the clinging cold.
Gwendolyn quickly dispels the cold-substituted acid fog, but the repulsion effect still hinders Prisantha, Jespo, and Lucius. Jespo speaks a power word stun at Piscean, and the elementalist’s mocking laughter trails off as he spins backward, wide-eyed.
“Great job, Crim!” Heydricus yells.
At that moment, Malwyn steps forward and shouts for Heironious’ power, dispelling the stunning effect.
“Well, f-ck.” Jespo says. Fräs hisses.
Piscean raises his staff, and enters a time stop. When he emerges, Prisantha disappears, sent into a multi-dimensional maze. A prismatic spray washes over the Liberators, searing Dabus, Regda and Heydricus with electricity and fire, and turning Gwendolyn to stone. Jespo Crim cries out once as his heart stops, and falls to the ground dead, Fräs rolling free from her pouch, a perfect stone replica of an otherwise very good cat.
“Jespie, no!” Regda yells, as the petrified Fräs comes to a stop against her feet.
Lucius drops to the ground, and rolls underneath the spray, regaining his footing as the spell fades.
A disjunction strikes the Liberators at the same moment, unraveling their protective spells and rendering their magic items mundane. A large white-furred wolf and a small impish figure composed of frost and ice appear next to Piscean, baring fangs and making arcane gestures, respectively.
Regda secures Fräs inside her satchel, and shrieks a battle-cry, smiting the ice-imp with her greatsword, as the thing burns her with a bolt of ice.
Dabus is the next to recover, and he speaks a holy word that sends the sorcerous ice creature back to whatever realm it was called from and deafens both Lucius and Piscean. As the sound reverberates, Dabus notices Malwyn’s confused expression—why are these traitors and servants of Iuz using holy magics?
“Speak to him now,” Dabus says to the stalwart cleric. “Speak to him if you don’t believe us, we’ve told you no lies.” Then to the deafened wizard, he says, “tell the man how wrong I am if you are not wicked, Piscean.”
The cleric’s eyes narrow as it becomes clear that Piscean cannot hear. “Heironious forgive me for what I have done,” he mutters, and strikes Piscean between the shoulder blades with his mace, staggering him. Lucius shakes his head and moves to flank Piscean as Heydricus leaps at him, nearly impaling the wizard with his spear.
The ice-wolf leaps at Heydricus and seizes him with a fierce bite, pulling the Liberator from his feet. Lucius moves to help his friend, cutting the huge beast several times, but the wolf does not release its hold.
Piscean laughs once, clutching his wounds, and backs away from the melee. He waves his staff and disappears, teleporting away. Dabus, Regda and Malwyn fall onto the huge wolf, and begin lashing the creature, drawing huge gouts of blood and crushing bones. Heydricus manages to free his spear, and impales the creature—but it is fierce enough to fight past mortal endurance, and it keeps struggling until Lucius buries his sword into its back and severs its spine.
Prisantha emerges from the maze as Malwyn faces the Liberators. “I was wrong about you,” he says, “and I beg your forgiveness. We have been betrayed, and I can only say in my defense that I am forever for our King, and a true man for Furyondy.”
Dabus places a hand on the man’s shoulder. “It is forgotten,” he says. “Piscean is our enemy, and friends of Belvor shall always be friends to the Liberators. Aid me now.” Dabus and Malwyn begin to cure the Lords wounded by Piscean’s chill fog.
“Where is that vile man?” Pris asks, as she looks over the carnage.
“He teleported away,” Heydricus says.
“Oh no he didn’t,” Pris replies, and she sends a demand to Piscean that he “return to the Lord’s Council at once.”
Her only reply is a mocking telepathic taunt; “Love the attitude,” the wizard sends back. But Prisantha is not to be outdone, and she limited wishes a second demand. This time, Piscean replies, “Yes, yes, I know what you wish, but I think it best if I decline. Please stop making demands of me. Thank you so much.”
“I can scry the villain,” Malwyn offers. “If you wish,” he adds humbly.
“Excellent,” Heydricus says. “He’s on the run, now—but he can’t hide.”
The Assembly of Northern Lords has degenerated into panic. Many of the Lords have fled, and those who remain are calling out orders angrily. Guardsmen pour into the room, but in the face of the general confusion and contradicting commands are milling about indecisively.
Malwyn empties a holy water vial into the basin of his shield, and casts his scrying spell. “He’s still in the room!” he shouts, looking about himself. He is near the southern door—right there!” The party follows his pointing finger, and notices Piscean slouching behind a group of arguing Lords.
As the Liberators lock eyes with the wizard, he shakes his head sadly and targets them with a horrid wilting spell that sucks the sweat from the heroes, and kills several more High Lords and guardsmen. With a word, he invokes a quickened greater invisibility spell.
But Tritherion has other plans, and Dabus centers a dispel magic on Piscean’s area, and forces the wizard to appear.
Metagame Note: This is another example of my dice’s ridiculous love for Dabus. Piscean had six spells active, and Dabus failed against two of his higher-level effects, before succeeding against a fourth-level spell. Improved invisibility was only one of four active spells at this level, and amazingly, the very spell Dabus’ dispel magic removed!
As Dabus finishes his incantation, Heydricus charges Piscean and strikes him with his spear, but the wizard’s abjurations protect him from the worst of the damage. Dabus and Lucius run after Heydricus, while Malwyn and Regda rush about, attending to the most critically wounded bystanders.
Piscean regards Heydricus with a slightly exasperated scowl. “Come on,” he whispers, “we’ve given them their show, now join me.” And in a booming voice he yells, “Fiends, I invoke the true deweomer of righteous incantation! I will make you pay a thousand times over for your vile perdifery!” Somewhat apologetically, he whispers, “Legislators love hyperbole.”
Piscean casts an admiring gaze over Heydricus’ form. “Join me and let us be at peace,” he whispers. “Don’t worry, I despise the Old One as much as you. I have your magical items, and of course you may have them back, save for your holy relics. Wouldn’t you like to serve the real power in Greyhawk?” Piscean smiles knowingly.
“The real power?” Heydricus scoffs. “I’m not hiring.”
Piscean frowns, his pale and wrinkled countenance turning down until he resembles a fierce and aggravated prune. “So be it . . . dead guy.”
Piscean sends a prismatic spray into the face of Tritherion’s Holy Liberator, burning Heydricus’ skin, and singing his clothing into smoking and wispy tatters. The end of the spray falls just short of Prisantha and Dabus, but Lucius is struck by a single beam, which burns a hole through his chest, killing the assassin.
Heydricus drops his spear, and seizes Piscean in his thick arms, his muscles bulging out from underneath the shreds of his vest. As Heydricus wrestles the wizard’s arms behind his back, he says, “Somatic this, bitch.”
Dabus points a dimensional anchor spell at Piscean, but just as the ray is arcing toward the wizard, Heydricus shifts into the spell’s path. “Damn!” Dabus curses as Heydricus is anchored. Prisantha is ready, however, and she freezes Piscean in place with a hold monster spell.
“I got him!” she shouts, pleased with herself.
As Piscean stiffens and ceases to struggle, Heydricus tears shreds from his ruined shirt and binds and gags the wizard, nodding to Pris. After a moment’s reprieve, the Liberators are surrounded by Furyondian royal guardsmen. “You . . . you’re under arrest?” one of them says warily. The guards are wide-eyed with fear, but seem determined.
“Friends, countrymen!” Malwyn shouts from the other side of the room. “The Heroes of the Temple are not our enemy—Heydricus speaks the truth! I was misled, as were we all by the treachery of an evil wizard. Let us have order here. Order, I say!”
A few voices shout their agreement, but are swiftly drowned out by a chorus of disbelieving Lords calling for the arrest of everyone involved.
“Lords, heed me!” Heydricus yells, but to no avail.
“Drop your weapons!” The commander of the guardmen has pushed to the front, and regards the Liberators warily, as he motions for silence. “Surrender now, and we will have the truth of things.”
Prisantha looks squarely at the man and smiles into his eyes, striking him with a silent, still charm person spell. “Friend, attend me well,” she says, and then speaks a stilled mass suggestion: “Gathered Lords, listen to Malwyn, your trusted friend, and heed the Liberator. We are innocent of any wrongdoing.”
“I believe you lady,” the guard captain says. “And I know you are good and true. But you must submit to my custody until these others can be made to see. Please,” he says pleadingly, “I have my orders. Come with me now, and peacefully.”
Heydricus leans toward Dabus, giving him the portable hole. “Take Piscean and our fallen companions, and get out of here. I will submit to this arrest.”
“Not alone you won’t,” Pris says. “If you’re staying, I’m staying.”
“We’re all staying,” Dabus asserts, but Heydricus shakes his head.
“Don’t be stupid, get the mage out of here, and kill the bastard. You’re not anchored, so just go.”
In the face of a direct order, even loyal Dabus cannot protest, and scooping the corpses of Jespo Crim and Lucius along with the statue that used to be Gwendolyn into the portable hole, he gives Heydricus one last confident gesture, and plane shifts the Liberators to Tritherion’s holy realm.
Yet even as the Liberators of Tenh fade away, Prisantha remains behind. “I’m not leaving you, Heydricus,” she says, taking his hand. “You need me.”
Heydricus smiles at her grimly, and turns to the guardsman. “Allright,” he says, stalling for time, “I submit, but you’ll have to go find a Knight of Furyondy to arrest me. You don’t have the authority.”
Fortunately for the guardsman, and unfortunately for Heydricus, the Council of Lords boasts the largest concentration of Furyondian knights in the realm.
Patchwall 4, CY 593
66—There’s no such thing as bad publicity.
“Yes, we’ll kill him, but first, we should get our gear,” Prisantha says.
“You’re right,” Heydricus admits. “I’ve got a holy spear that needs a wizard-skin sheath. Dabus, can you plane shift us to this Hyperborean whateverthef-ck?”
“I can,” Dabus says, and after the Liberators prepare defensive spells, he does so.
The Hyperborean Obverse is a flat, featureless plane of solid ice, extending in all directions as far as the eye can see, its low-hanging sky a reflective mirror. Several hundred yards away, a lone spire rises hundreds of feet above the surface, shaped more like an impossibly large ice stalagmite than any worldly structure.
“Well, it can’t be infinite,” Jespo sniffs. “It is a demi-plane, after all. I suspect an illusion—the whole place cannot be any larger than a mile or more. Oh, the vanity of wizards.”
As Jespo speaks, his voice trembles from his uncontrollable shivering, and his breath puffs out before his face—the Hyperborean Obverse is true to its name, a flat plane of bone-chilling cold. As the Liberators move toward the spire, the ice creaks ominously beneath their feet.
“Rotten ice,” Dabus curses.
“Hah,” Jespo says through chattering teeth. “Shoddy craftsmanship.” Regda puts her arm around the frail mage, and rubs his shoulders comfortingly.
“No, it’s a trap,” Prisantha says. “And we can’t all fly.”
“I have a solution,” Gwendolyn says. “I shall wish that we all be instantly and safely transported within ten feet of Heydricus’ portable hole.” She looks at her companions, then adds, “well, limited wish.”
------
Piscean is addressing the Lord’s Council from the floor, waving his staff grandly and clearly enjoying the thunderous response from Northern Furyondy’s most influential personages. Standing near him are several members of Belvor’s close circle of friends, including Malwyn, a powerful cleric of Heironeous, a former adventuring partner of the missing King.
Then the Liberators appear, all within ten feet of Piscean’s front pocket. As they orient themselves, the heroes look about them with crestfallen surprise.
“Oh, sh-t.” Gwendolyn says.
Piscean turns to the heroes, an expression of exaggerated shock and surprise on his face. “Have you come to surrender, you scoundrels?” the wizard demands in a voice loud enough for all to hear.
“We have come to expose you!” Pris replies, thinking quickly.
Heydricus seizes the moment, and pushes to the fore, raising his spear. “My lords,” he shouts. “We have been unjustly accused! Belvor’s assassin stands before you—the traitor is Piscean! Your treachery has reached its end this day, wretch. In the name of Tritherion I judge you guilty of murder and high treason!”
Piscean favors Heydricus with a brief smile, a queer look of pride on his face, before he turns to the assemblage. “Be not fooled by his lies, my Lords! Have I not warned you that these murderers would return? Have I not warned you that they would come to divide us on the eve of our greatest danger? Their lawlessness knows no bounds, and we must stand fast if we are to have our great peace!”
The chamber erupts into general outrage at this, and several members call for the guard. The Liberators fan out, ready for action. Prisantha and Jespo call to Lords they recognize and shout their support for Heydricus’ words, but Lucius remains perfectly still, staring at Piscean intently.
“Your lies end here, Piscean,” Heydricus replies. “My Lords, hear me! This man is the truth-killer! This is the wizard who betrayed his vows and murdered the other members of the Four! This is the traitor who imprisoned your King! Belvor lives, and is held in magical stasis by this wretch! Piscean meant to kill us as well, and place the blame upon our heads—but we did not commit this crime.” Heydricus raises his hands for silence. “My Lords, remember us! Have we not served you well? Have we not loved our King? We are true friends of Belvor, and we call upon all those who love Furyondy to cast his poison from their ears, and petition the gods for the truth!” At this, he turns to Malwyn. “My Lord, divine the truth of things—let us be judged here and now, and put this traitor to the question.”
Malwyn’s response is to place a hand on his mace, and step away from the Liberators, watching them warily.
“Pathetic!” Piscean shouts. “What hubris! What greed! They have slain our liege and bled our realm, but would still place a claim against our loyalty?” Then under his breath, he whispers to Heydricus. “Perfectly done. I applaud your timing.”
The room is filled with cries and confusion—guards pour into the amphitheater, and call for order as a hundred voices are raised against one another. In the midst of this chaos, Lucius calmly raises his crossbow and attempts to assassinate Piscean.
As his bolt streaks toward the throat of the mage, Piscean’s contingency activates, and a pair of spell effects take place; a cloud of tangible freezing mist rises up around him, foiling Lucius’ deadly bolt, and searing the skin of the Liberators and nearest High Lords with an intense cold. At the same time, a repulsion pushes against the Liberators, preventing them from closing with Piscean.
“Fools!” Piscean yells, pantomiming wildly, clearly unaffected by his spell. “You cannot harm me with your ice magics—I am the elementalist of flame!” The Lords begin to flee away from the freezing mist, but the fog itself is thick and substantial and hinders their flight. Several Lords fall to the ground, killed by the clinging cold.
Gwendolyn quickly dispels the cold-substituted acid fog, but the repulsion effect still hinders Prisantha, Jespo, and Lucius. Jespo speaks a power word stun at Piscean, and the elementalist’s mocking laughter trails off as he spins backward, wide-eyed.
“Great job, Crim!” Heydricus yells.
At that moment, Malwyn steps forward and shouts for Heironious’ power, dispelling the stunning effect.
“Well, f-ck.” Jespo says. Fräs hisses.
Piscean raises his staff, and enters a time stop. When he emerges, Prisantha disappears, sent into a multi-dimensional maze. A prismatic spray washes over the Liberators, searing Dabus, Regda and Heydricus with electricity and fire, and turning Gwendolyn to stone. Jespo Crim cries out once as his heart stops, and falls to the ground dead, Fräs rolling free from her pouch, a perfect stone replica of an otherwise very good cat.
“Jespie, no!” Regda yells, as the petrified Fräs comes to a stop against her feet.
Lucius drops to the ground, and rolls underneath the spray, regaining his footing as the spell fades.
A disjunction strikes the Liberators at the same moment, unraveling their protective spells and rendering their magic items mundane. A large white-furred wolf and a small impish figure composed of frost and ice appear next to Piscean, baring fangs and making arcane gestures, respectively.
Regda secures Fräs inside her satchel, and shrieks a battle-cry, smiting the ice-imp with her greatsword, as the thing burns her with a bolt of ice.
Dabus is the next to recover, and he speaks a holy word that sends the sorcerous ice creature back to whatever realm it was called from and deafens both Lucius and Piscean. As the sound reverberates, Dabus notices Malwyn’s confused expression—why are these traitors and servants of Iuz using holy magics?
“Speak to him now,” Dabus says to the stalwart cleric. “Speak to him if you don’t believe us, we’ve told you no lies.” Then to the deafened wizard, he says, “tell the man how wrong I am if you are not wicked, Piscean.”
The cleric’s eyes narrow as it becomes clear that Piscean cannot hear. “Heironious forgive me for what I have done,” he mutters, and strikes Piscean between the shoulder blades with his mace, staggering him. Lucius shakes his head and moves to flank Piscean as Heydricus leaps at him, nearly impaling the wizard with his spear.
The ice-wolf leaps at Heydricus and seizes him with a fierce bite, pulling the Liberator from his feet. Lucius moves to help his friend, cutting the huge beast several times, but the wolf does not release its hold.
Piscean laughs once, clutching his wounds, and backs away from the melee. He waves his staff and disappears, teleporting away. Dabus, Regda and Malwyn fall onto the huge wolf, and begin lashing the creature, drawing huge gouts of blood and crushing bones. Heydricus manages to free his spear, and impales the creature—but it is fierce enough to fight past mortal endurance, and it keeps struggling until Lucius buries his sword into its back and severs its spine.
Prisantha emerges from the maze as Malwyn faces the Liberators. “I was wrong about you,” he says, “and I beg your forgiveness. We have been betrayed, and I can only say in my defense that I am forever for our King, and a true man for Furyondy.”
Dabus places a hand on the man’s shoulder. “It is forgotten,” he says. “Piscean is our enemy, and friends of Belvor shall always be friends to the Liberators. Aid me now.” Dabus and Malwyn begin to cure the Lords wounded by Piscean’s chill fog.
“Where is that vile man?” Pris asks, as she looks over the carnage.
“He teleported away,” Heydricus says.
“Oh no he didn’t,” Pris replies, and she sends a demand to Piscean that he “return to the Lord’s Council at once.”
Her only reply is a mocking telepathic taunt; “Love the attitude,” the wizard sends back. But Prisantha is not to be outdone, and she limited wishes a second demand. This time, Piscean replies, “Yes, yes, I know what you wish, but I think it best if I decline. Please stop making demands of me. Thank you so much.”
“I can scry the villain,” Malwyn offers. “If you wish,” he adds humbly.
“Excellent,” Heydricus says. “He’s on the run, now—but he can’t hide.”
The Assembly of Northern Lords has degenerated into panic. Many of the Lords have fled, and those who remain are calling out orders angrily. Guardsmen pour into the room, but in the face of the general confusion and contradicting commands are milling about indecisively.
Malwyn empties a holy water vial into the basin of his shield, and casts his scrying spell. “He’s still in the room!” he shouts, looking about himself. He is near the southern door—right there!” The party follows his pointing finger, and notices Piscean slouching behind a group of arguing Lords.
As the Liberators lock eyes with the wizard, he shakes his head sadly and targets them with a horrid wilting spell that sucks the sweat from the heroes, and kills several more High Lords and guardsmen. With a word, he invokes a quickened greater invisibility spell.
But Tritherion has other plans, and Dabus centers a dispel magic on Piscean’s area, and forces the wizard to appear.
Metagame Note: This is another example of my dice’s ridiculous love for Dabus. Piscean had six spells active, and Dabus failed against two of his higher-level effects, before succeeding against a fourth-level spell. Improved invisibility was only one of four active spells at this level, and amazingly, the very spell Dabus’ dispel magic removed!
As Dabus finishes his incantation, Heydricus charges Piscean and strikes him with his spear, but the wizard’s abjurations protect him from the worst of the damage. Dabus and Lucius run after Heydricus, while Malwyn and Regda rush about, attending to the most critically wounded bystanders.
Piscean regards Heydricus with a slightly exasperated scowl. “Come on,” he whispers, “we’ve given them their show, now join me.” And in a booming voice he yells, “Fiends, I invoke the true deweomer of righteous incantation! I will make you pay a thousand times over for your vile perdifery!” Somewhat apologetically, he whispers, “Legislators love hyperbole.”
Piscean casts an admiring gaze over Heydricus’ form. “Join me and let us be at peace,” he whispers. “Don’t worry, I despise the Old One as much as you. I have your magical items, and of course you may have them back, save for your holy relics. Wouldn’t you like to serve the real power in Greyhawk?” Piscean smiles knowingly.
“The real power?” Heydricus scoffs. “I’m not hiring.”
Piscean frowns, his pale and wrinkled countenance turning down until he resembles a fierce and aggravated prune. “So be it . . . dead guy.”
Piscean sends a prismatic spray into the face of Tritherion’s Holy Liberator, burning Heydricus’ skin, and singing his clothing into smoking and wispy tatters. The end of the spray falls just short of Prisantha and Dabus, but Lucius is struck by a single beam, which burns a hole through his chest, killing the assassin.
Heydricus drops his spear, and seizes Piscean in his thick arms, his muscles bulging out from underneath the shreds of his vest. As Heydricus wrestles the wizard’s arms behind his back, he says, “Somatic this, bitch.”
Dabus points a dimensional anchor spell at Piscean, but just as the ray is arcing toward the wizard, Heydricus shifts into the spell’s path. “Damn!” Dabus curses as Heydricus is anchored. Prisantha is ready, however, and she freezes Piscean in place with a hold monster spell.
“I got him!” she shouts, pleased with herself.
As Piscean stiffens and ceases to struggle, Heydricus tears shreds from his ruined shirt and binds and gags the wizard, nodding to Pris. After a moment’s reprieve, the Liberators are surrounded by Furyondian royal guardsmen. “You . . . you’re under arrest?” one of them says warily. The guards are wide-eyed with fear, but seem determined.
“Friends, countrymen!” Malwyn shouts from the other side of the room. “The Heroes of the Temple are not our enemy—Heydricus speaks the truth! I was misled, as were we all by the treachery of an evil wizard. Let us have order here. Order, I say!”
A few voices shout their agreement, but are swiftly drowned out by a chorus of disbelieving Lords calling for the arrest of everyone involved.
“Lords, heed me!” Heydricus yells, but to no avail.
“Drop your weapons!” The commander of the guardmen has pushed to the front, and regards the Liberators warily, as he motions for silence. “Surrender now, and we will have the truth of things.”
Prisantha looks squarely at the man and smiles into his eyes, striking him with a silent, still charm person spell. “Friend, attend me well,” she says, and then speaks a stilled mass suggestion: “Gathered Lords, listen to Malwyn, your trusted friend, and heed the Liberator. We are innocent of any wrongdoing.”
“I believe you lady,” the guard captain says. “And I know you are good and true. But you must submit to my custody until these others can be made to see. Please,” he says pleadingly, “I have my orders. Come with me now, and peacefully.”
Heydricus leans toward Dabus, giving him the portable hole. “Take Piscean and our fallen companions, and get out of here. I will submit to this arrest.”
“Not alone you won’t,” Pris says. “If you’re staying, I’m staying.”
“We’re all staying,” Dabus asserts, but Heydricus shakes his head.
“Don’t be stupid, get the mage out of here, and kill the bastard. You’re not anchored, so just go.”
In the face of a direct order, even loyal Dabus cannot protest, and scooping the corpses of Jespo Crim and Lucius along with the statue that used to be Gwendolyn into the portable hole, he gives Heydricus one last confident gesture, and plane shifts the Liberators to Tritherion’s holy realm.
Yet even as the Liberators of Tenh fade away, Prisantha remains behind. “I’m not leaving you, Heydricus,” she says, taking his hand. “You need me.”
Heydricus smiles at her grimly, and turns to the guardsman. “Allright,” he says, stalling for time, “I submit, but you’ll have to go find a Knight of Furyondy to arrest me. You don’t have the authority.”
Fortunately for the guardsman, and unfortunately for Heydricus, the Council of Lords boasts the largest concentration of Furyondian knights in the realm.
the_mighty_agrippa
First Post
(contact) said:
brilliant... just brilliant.
damn, i was really hoping lucius was going to pull off an indy jones here.
"the bolt sinks into the elementalist's eye, the feathers stained a deep crimson. lucius calmly reloads his crossbow and turns to the gathered nobles, 'f***er.'"
tell heydricus' player i owe him drinks for this one line alone...
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