The Liberation of Tenh (updated April 24)

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Flocktime 6, CY 593

37: Against the Giants of the Frozen Wastes.

"The eagles were outside of my spell ranges, but next time, I will crush their wills with my irresistible power!" Jespo tells Dabus. Fräs hisses. "Well, I will bend their wills with my Spellcraft," Jespo clarifies. Fräs hisses. "Wills can so be bent by spell craft," Jespo says. Fräs hisses. "Well, Prisantha could."

The group searches the building, and discovers a narrow (by giant standards) stairway cut into the back of the building, tunneling up through the mountainside at a steep slope. Following the stairs, the party emerges in a wide s-shaped cavern, with ten foot tall ledges running along either side and a third ledge at the opposite end, slightly higher than the others. Stalactites of mineral and ice hang from the ceiling, and the party's torch-light is reflected back to them from a thousand glittering points.

C'min, Elenthal and Elijah form the group's forward scouting faction, and creep into the cavern unseen by a pair of giants, who are staring intently at the opening behind the scouts, from which the party's light illuminates the room. Elenthal and C'min move toward the giants, readying themselves for a surprise attack and as the rest of the group enters the massive cavern. The resulting fight is quick and dirty. The giants seem unimpressed by the characters at first, gleefully moving toward the group hoping for a moment's diversion.

They are diverted all right, and after the blood sprays settle, the party moves toward a side passage.

As they near the opening, a voice echoes out from within, "Who comes to visit me, here in my refuge? Who comes to die today?"

A frost giant's face emerges from deep shadows, it's eyes wild with pain and it's mouth filled with sharp teeth. The head is attached to a long, snake-like neck, covered in snowy scales. The creature opens its mouth, and blasts the party's scouts with a cone of super-cooled air and frost shards. Elijah cries a warning, then charges forward.

She is the first to see the whole creature, a twisted amalgamation of giant and serpent-the thing has four legs and vestigial wings, but it also sports a pair of giant arms sprouting from its snaky neck, arms that are clutching a huge greatsword.

The party moves forward, but their advance is blunted by the thing's tremendous reach. Elijah and C'min hang back, attacking with missile fire, while Thrommel runs forward, shouting "For Furyondy! For the . . ." before he is struck to the ground.

Jespo summons a pair of celestial lions to the thing's back, confusing it and forcing its head to whip from the front to the rear, leaving openings for the fighters to get close enough for melee. Elenthal moves toward its side, but is struck with a devastating cut from the thing's greatsword, and the stoic ranger falls to the ground, wounded near death for the second time today.

Things look truly dire for a moment, but once the group is able to fully surround the creature, its end is assured. Whatever it is, it bleeds, and can be killed.

The group recovers themselves, and tends to the wounded, restoring Elenthal and Thrommel to health. After a quick assessment of their current strength, they decide that they have enough left to push forward.

Beyond the s-shaped cavern, an ice-cave winds deeper into the mountain, and upward. At regular intervals, strange obelisks are set into the ground-formed from some unrecognized rock, and carved with winding sigils, in an unrecognized alphabet. A faint humming can be felt in the air here, like some massive thing just beneath their feet, slowly breathing in and out. As the group draws near each obelisk, they feel brief lances of fear or anguish pierce their minds.

Just past the obelisks, two more frost giants are lounging near a narrow opening. The group engages with them, and defeats them, but determines that they can take no more. They retreat to their camp, and await the dawn, huddled together against the cold.

The next morning, Elijah and Elenthal return to the Aerie, but discover that the passage into the giant's lair has been blocked by a massive chunk of ice, placed into the opening-apparently, the giants have chosen to seal themselves in, but for what purpose the party does not know.

Elenthal flies over the summit on his griffon, and reports that the peak has been excavated-a huge bowl-shaped cut carved out from the top of the mountain. He can see that the giants have built a supporting structure in the depression, and several of them are working in the base of it, cutting into the rock with pickaxes.

After hearing Elenthal's report, Dabus casts wind walk on the group, and they travel to the excavation site. On the rim of the excavation, a crack in the earth radiates heat and a thin, wisping smoke. C'min, made like a draft of smoke herself by Dabus' spell, oozes down into the crack and witnesses a gory scene:

The fissure opens into a large cave, and directly beneath the opening, a wretched-looking hill giant tends a grisly pyre. Several giant bodies are laid out like firewood on a skull-shaped rock and are alight with a greenish arcane flame. The fire gives off heat and some smoke, but does not seem to consume the bodies.

The hill giant tending the fire is thin and sallow, covered with open sores along the length of his neck and shoulders. He is also heavily marked with scarring, a pattern indicating that he has been the victim of Iuzian ritual torture. The giant sweats and groans softly as he turns several large metal spikes in the flame, heating them to a white-hot temperature.

Further into the cavern, a lone human, naked from the waist up, is driving similar spikes into the bodies of several patchwork creatures-parts of giants and humanoids are sewn together seemingly at random, and the human lovingly strokes his creation as he works a spike deep into its torso.

Worse yet, at the opposite end of the chamber, a huge pit is filled with the dismembered body parts of uncountable creatures-the whole of which is being turned like a great compost pile by another diseased hill giant.

Passing unseen through the chamber, C'min discovers a pair of adjoining rooms, one containing an alchemical laboratory and workroom, the other a lavishly appointed bedchamber, sized for a human.

C'min reports her findings back to the group, disgust plain on her elven face. "These foul ones need to die now," she says, somewhat unnecessarily.

Dabus says, "The spell that has transformed us cannot be rapidly dispelled. For this reason, we shall split into two groups. The first wave will consist of myself, Jespo and Elenthal. C'min Elijah and Thrommel shall form the second wave."

Thrommel objects, "The second wave?"

"Oh, no sire," Jespo says, shooting a look at Dabus, "you shall be in the first wave, with C'min and Elijah. The second wave will go in first, to prepare the way for the first wave."

"That's more like it," Thrommel says.

The second wave is to be made invisible by Jespo, then drift unseen into the room. They will become corporeal, with the first wave following suit if necessary.

They are not necessary. Jespo lays the giants out with a chained Tasha's hideous laughter, and Dabus levels the might of Tritherion's fury at the human, obliterating him completely with a destruction spell. Before the second wave can fully materialize, Elenthal has killed the helpless giants.

Thrommel says, "Gods of Good, what a stench in here! Jespo, can't you do something about it?"

"No, my liege, unfortunately I cannot," Jespo says. "We must all take care to be cured of disease when this is over. This whole place is festering with rot."

The group searches the human's quarters, and discovers a sizable treasure in the form of a prodigious research library, as well as a cache of freshly minted platinum coins, stamped with a seal from Riftcrag, in the Bandit Kingdoms.

Better yet, the human has a large stack of correspondence, detailing his mission here in the mountains of Tenh. The party takes the coinage and the letters, intending to study them at their leisure at a later time. They identify the dead mage as none other than Festering, the lamia witch's dread master. Festering is charged in the letters with overseeing the operation to convert Tenh's native giant population over to the worship of Iuz, and recover an artifact called the Bleeding Stone-no doubt the object of the giant's excavation.

-----

Next: The Liberators encounter an ancient artifact, and taste their own blood!

 

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Flocktime 7, CY 593

38: The Bleeding Stone.

The group leaves through another opening in Festering’s workroom, and has a brief moment of worry when they discover several completed giant and human patchwork creatures, propped into alcoves along the passages’ length. Fortunately, whatever motive power the things must have had is gone, as they silently watch the group’s passage and do not stir.

As they travel down the passage, the party becomes aware of a soft humming—a vibration that seems to fill the air, and whispers in their minds with a sound like rustling leaves. The sound is altogether unpleasant, and the group shares a sense of dread.

The passage connects to the base of the excavation. A series of rough-cut concentric circles widen as they rise in height, and the chamber is exposed to the frigid, thin air. The group stands on the largest circle—a ledge some forty feet in width, running around a circumference of several hundred feet. In the center of the chamber, a support structure of posts, pillars and cross-beams is built into the ice and stone. Ropes and pulleys dangle from the construction, and three frost giants stand upon it, pulling up huge loads of stone and ice, or hacking into the mountain with pick-axes. Another giant supervises the work, hands on his hips. This supervisor is heavily tattooed, but the giant is too far away for the party to make the designs out.

At the center of the bowl-shaped tier excavation, a massive obelisk rises half-exposed. The obelisk is composed of a material so dark as to absorb the light, dimming the scene around it. The thing is covered with fine traceries that glow like pulsing phosphorescent veins along its length. When examined, the thing seems to shunt the viewer’s gaze off to one side, and directly looking at the obelisk causes the vibratory sensation to grow in strength. Elijah is sure for a moment that the traceries are not veins, but rivulets of blood, innocent blood—children’s blood, enough blood to . . . she averts her gaze before her morale degenerates any further.

Just at that moment, all of the giants in the room raise their heads in unison and stare directly at Elijah.

Elijah, meet the Bleeding Stone.

As the supervisor giant comes screaming into the party’s torch-light, the group notices that his tattoos are actually cut-marks—hundreds of them, covering his mostly naked body from head to toe. The cut-marks duplicate the twisted traceries of the Bleeding Stone, and appear to be self-inflicted. The giant bellows forward and literally runs over Thrommel before coming to a stop in the midst of the spellcasters. Where he stops, a thick, noxious mist rises from the ground, obscuring all sight, rising to the height of his chest.

The worker giants in the depression also charge toward the group, drawing attacks from Elenthal, Elijah and Thrommel. Jespo mass hastes the group, and flees from the mist, but in doing so, he is struck with a backhanded axe blow from the tattooed giant! Jespo rolls out of the cloud, tears streaming from his eyes, and levels his thin fingers at the beast. “Take this, you fiend!” he cries, but whatever spell he had intended for his foe fails to take affect, and the giant rolls his eyes back in his head, raising his axe for another strike.

Jespo falls to the ground, reflexively curling into a ball, and lets out a thin whimper.

“Damn you Crim, FIGHT!” comes a voice as clear as day from within Fräs’ bag.

Elenthal, Elijah and Thrommel gang up on one of the worker giants, beating it back away from the ledge, and causing it to tumble into a pool of viscous liquid slowly forming around the base of the Bleeding Stone.

Dabus calls on Tritherion and grows to giant-size himself, then attacks one of the other workers with his spear.

Meanwhile, Fräs’ warning seems to spur Jespo’s courage, but the reluctant summoner takes another blow from the carved giant’s axe before he can make himself invisible.

Elenthal proves once again why he has earned the name Giant Bane, as he slices into first one of the giants, then another, shredding their flesh and tearing the muscles of their legs. Dabus and Elijah assist him, and the giants’ cause looks lost.

Then suddenly, Elenthal drops to his knees, as long-suppressed memories of his childhood lived deep within the bowels of the earth rise unbidden to his mind. Elenthal trembles, an anguished primal scream emerging from his throat.

The giant battling Dabus attacks Elenthal at this juncture, knocking him to the ground. Dabus quickly realizes that the giants are the least of their foes, and disengages from his melee in order to strike the Bleeding Stone twice with rays from his wand of searing light.

The last worker looks ready to reach the fray, but stops suddenly and begins to cackle, then chortle, then finally breaks down into peals of booming laughter. Jespo’s voice emerges from thin air and says “That’s right, Fräs, who’s laughing now?”

C’min creeps directly into the mist obscuring the carved giant, and unseen, strikes the beast several times, bringing it to its knees, then to the ground.

Elenthal’s tribulations at the hands of the Bleeding Stone are not over, however, as he is lifted from his feet by unseen tentacles of force, and is shaken like a rag doll. Worse yet, his armor and exposed skin begin to smoke and boil as a powerful acid etches marks into his hide.

Thrommel pauses to regard Elenthal just before he is also grasped by the ephemeral coils, and begins to burn. Unlike the ranger, however, Thrommel is not made of stern enough stuff, and the Prince of Furyondy, bleeding from several wounds and mortally burned, drops to the ground, lifeless.

“Oh for the love of . . .” Jespo says. “Somebody kill that Stone!”

“I’m working on it!” Dabus yells, as he empties charge after charge from his wand into the terrifying obelisk. With each spell, the viscous liquid forming around the Stone’s base grows in volume, and begins to give off a noxious smoke that stings the eyes and lungs of the Liberators fighting on the ledge. Dabus calls for a retreat, just as Elijah kills the last of the fighting giants. The party is forced to flee back into the passage from which they entered the excavation site, and have a moment of fear as Dabus realizes that the automatons there may be keyed to attack any strangers emerging from that direction!

Fortunately for the Liberators, the golems were controlled by a magic item in the possession of Festering that was reduced to ash along with his jaundiced body when he was destroyed by Dabus, just minutes earlier. They remain, now as for evermore, silent and still.

After a few tense moments, the noxious cloud dissipates out through the exposed ceiling, and when it clears, only the bodies of the giants are left in the site. The Bleeding Stone is gone, nowhere to be seen.

“Did we kill it?” Jespo asks, but his question remains unanswered, with only the icy wind for a reply.

-----
Next: The Liberators commit mail fraud!

 

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Interlude: Information is the currency of power.

One raise dead spell later, the party is together again, whole and sane. Elenthal and Thrommel are both marked on their skin from their acid wounds, the scarring looking disturbingly like the marks on the Bleeding Stone.

Dabus shares his doubts about the likelihood that the Bleeding Stone is destroyed, but hopes that in defeating it, they have forced it far away from the Iuzian forces seeking to claim it for their own. The group returns to Cur’ruth, and examines the letters kept by Festering from his masters in Dorakka. Festering the Diseased was compulsive enough to keep draft copies of all his correspondence to his superiors, enabling the Liberators to piece together details some of the more high-level Iuzian activities in Tenh:

Festering was in correspondence with two of his superiors, Jumper and Althea. The name of Althea is known to the party as a member of the Greater Boneheart, Iuz' personal servants and high council. Althea's name is familiar to the Liberators—she is the current High Priestess of Iuz, and most senior of his servitors. The scrolls from both Althea and Jumper were delivered inside of beautifully crafted scroll-rings, carved with the holy symbol of Iuz, the Great Seal of Dorakka, and a third symbol unknown to the group.

Jumper's letters were primarily concerned with the issue of Festering's command of the Giant Conversion Process—a systematic corruption of the local hill giant tribes with the eventual goal of merging them culturally with the Men of the Stonefist (producing hill giant barbarians) and turning them to the worship of Iuz. The notes detail the locations of four other hidden bases in Northern Tenh, and mention the former Tenha city of Calibut as a gathering place and meeting ground for the Iuzian leaders in the occupied East.

Althea's correspondence relates entirely to the Bleeding Stone. According to her letters, the Bleeding Stone is one of seven great artifacts that predate and presage the birth of Iuz in the Flannaes, objects that are considered sentient (if entirely alien) and self-aware. The Seven Stones appeared in what was to become the land of Iuz, and prepared the tribes there for their eventual unification under his tyrannical rule. Shortly after his birth, they disappeared, and were assumed to be scattered to the far corners of the Flannaes. The Stones are apparently resistant to normal divinations, and their locations have only gradually been discovered by Iuzian search teams, operating under the direction of Cranzer of Riftcrag, a member of the Lesser Boneheart.

Althea mentions three other Stones that are in the possession of the Iuzian forces, and levels the threat that the last stone to be reclaimed will result in the death of the official in charge of its discovery. She hopes that this will spur Festering and the others on toward an ever-greater zeal in their service to the Old One.

Althea states in one letter that the Seven Stones are fractured parts of one great whole—an object of epic power that would “open lost gates” and “hasten the alliances for which we have worked since the Great War”.

Unfortunately for the Iuzians, Festering was apparently embezzling the greater part of the funds allocated to his conversion and reclamation efforts for his own malign research. Festering's necromantic study was directed toward the creation of greater constructs—disease carrying flesh golems capable of self-aware thinking. To this end, he was stalling for time, claiming that his work was hindered by the unruliness of his Stonefist associates, and attempting to place all the blame on Martak, of the Curruth mines.

Festering's research tomes further indicate that he was also sharing information with Martak on the creation of necromantic constructs, and that recent Iuzian discoveries in the area of free-willed undead, made by the wizard Maskaleyne, had contributed also toward his foul ambition.

The recent failure of the mines at Curruth to deliver their ore quota was mentioned in passing by Jumper, and Festering was commanded to investigate—a command that he apparently ignored.

A fatal mistake, as things turned out.

------
Next: Powerful divinations, riddles and mysteries.

 

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Interlude: Legend Lore.

Jespo casts several Legend Lore spells, one for each of Festering’s masters, and one for the Bleeding Stone itself.

Legend Lore: Althea
Her Master craves her worship and bandies for it like a smitten spring lad,
Draping cruelties across her shoulder, and chasing after what pleases her.
Her eyes sweep the East, to fix on the South, and she loves your Prince not at all.
Those who hunt you bow before her, and press their faces into the ground.

Legend Lore: Jumper
His mind is not his own.
His voice is not his own.
His heart is not his own.
Three things Iuz does not know.

Legend Lore: The Bleeding Stone
Birthed through a breech that left the womb barren,
From the blood of His mother, shed against Her will,
Seven Stones called forth the end of the world
They sang Him to being, and sing to Him still.
The stones are the lintel between our now and all fear--
The place that was His before He came to rule here.

------
Next: Prisantha gets to play with her new toy, but sometimes you just don't wanna know. Y'know?

 

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Wealsun 12, CY 593

39: Plans are made and horrors revealed.

Prisantha emerges from her study on a balmy spring morning to reveal the fruit of her labors—a crystal ball of true seeing. Heydricus and Dabus cancel their morning activities to bring her up to date on the Liberators’ progress since the battle with the Bleeding Stone.

Dabus has recently finished hallowing the grounds of the mines, warding the place against evil, and strengthening the spiritual bond between Cur’ruth and its residents.

Heydricus has been training his followers, and trying to answer this riddle: How do two hundred dedicated soldiers conquer and secure an entire nation?

Heydricus has been meeting with the Aiman daily studying Flan religion, culture and lore, and he and the old man have hit upon what they think is the answer.

The Aiman believes it is crucial that Heydricus position himself as the true Flan ruler. Duke Eyeh still has a claim to the throne, but his newly discovered faith in Pholtus and loyalty to the Theocracy of the Pale must certainly weaken whatever popular support remains for him in Tenh. If Heydricus could make himself over as a true Tenha’s Tenha, his efforts against the Iuzians should certainly win popular support.

Heydricus commits to fighting a war for the hearts and minds of the Tenha populace. The old Flan pantheon must be restored, and wedded to the worship of Tritherion’s doctrine of personal freedom. From these meetings, the People’s Liberation Army of Tenh is born.

The Liberators can act as a strike force, eliminating through direct action the pockets of remaining Iuzian occupation, and after the fighting and the thank-yous, will leave behind a small unit of Heydricus’ followers to rally and train a grass-roots liberation army. With each town scoured of wickedness, Heydricus’ forces will grow, and his fame will spread. Heydricus loves the plan for its directness and simplicity. He’ll kill the tyrants, give a rousing speech, and then leave someone else behind to train the army.

The two erstwhile leaders decide upon a pair of most likely targets. Nevond Nevnend is the old capitol, and a long-standing cultural center for Tenh, while Calibut holds the precious metal mines of the nation, and is Tenh’s greatest economic asset. Cmin, Elijah and Elenthal are sent out on foot to infiltrate, and gather intelligence on the two cities.

Weeks later they return with a disturbing report. First, they scouted Nevond Nevnend, and the situation there is worse than feared. Men of the Stone Fist—a large band of petty tyrants and foul murders, still occupy Nevond Nevnend. These Stonefisters have grown comfortable in their role as masters of the place, and apparently ignored their nation’s withdrawal from Tenh. They are “led” by an unusual band of renegade Iuzians— “priests” wearing Iuzian robes, but bearing no unholy symbols of the Old One.

In addition, the worship of Erythnul has taken root amongst the people of Nevond Nevnend, something that no true Iuzian would suffer for even a moment. But despite all reason, the savage rituals of the Rending Lord have become common.

All in all, the city is ruled by a weak and aimless group of oppressors, easy pickings for sure—but of late, a bandit army of orcish soldiers have moved into the area. These orcs number some three hundred swords, and are the remnants of a mercenary legion abandoned without pay in the wild steppes of Tenh by the retreating Iuzian forces. These orcs have since taken up a nomadic life, and over the years suffered great losses at the hands of other bandits, trolls and worse. The orcs now have set up an encampment that is effectively laying siege to Nevond Nevnend while the orcish commanders negotiate with the “Iuzians” in control of the city.

As a whole, Nevond Nevnend is a cesspool of neglect and filth. The rulers care only for themselves, and the Tenha people are largely ignored. Despite their relative autonomy, the populace of Nevond Nevnend has not fared well since the occupation, and the city is mostly abandoned. Rampant crime and disease have been the order of the day for years, and the city is a ghostly shell of its former glory.

Calibut, on the other hand, exists in stark contrast to the normal occupation practices in Tenh. Calibut’s population is shrinking, but more gradually, and through seemingly natural means. Apparently, the people in Calibut are no longer having children, as none of the three scouts could say that they saw even one. The city’s populace is divided into three camps—those forced to work in the mines or to support the occupation, those too old or weak to work, and those who watch over the other two groups.

Calibut has a strong native militia, and crime is rare. The people go about their business, not even daring to speak to strangers, and the entire place gives off a sense of hopelessness.

As Cmin put it, “It is as if the life has been drained from the place. At times I wondered if I was even watching real people, so quiet are these folk.”

Calibut, she reports, is ruled by an Iuzian wizard known as Zeflen. In another stark contrast to standard Iuzian protocol, Zeflen has administered the city since the first day of its occupation, and there is no hint of insubordination in his ranks. The tyrannical wizard has mandated that all able-bodied youth are to serve a three-year tour in the city’s militia before being released to the mines. Thus, Calibut’s youth watch its elders in the name of its dread master.

In addition to the two cities, the party knows from Festering’s correspondance that there are five hidden Iuzian bases in the mountains of Tenh: Cur’ruth, the two giant strongholds, and two undiscovered others. These bases are put on the list.

But what does any of this have to do with Prisantha’s new item, she’d like to know. After her briefing, the group settles down to do some serious scrying.

-----

Prisantha chooses the Baron Butrain as her first target. She knows him fairly well, and the party harbors deep suspicion that he may not be what he seems. Perhaps, it is suggested, Butrain is a hideous demon who somehow managed to avoid the business end of Heydricus’ sword during the battle against the Temple of Elemental Evil. Disappointingly, Butrain is what he seems to be; an entirely mortal, if condescending and selfish nobleman. To Prisantha’s disgust, the onerous Baron is having boils lanced from the soles of his feet when she scrys him.

-----

Her next subject is an individual who has intrigued the party since they first encountered him—the Iuzain Panshzek the Vile, the very fellow who was attempting to torture Thrommel’s intelligent sword, and wished the group away when they attempted to kill him. Her true seeing bypasses the being the scrying is first shunted off to; a captive human boy, well fed but chained to a wall in a small cell. His misdirection spell foiled, Panshzek is revealed.

The pale, dark-eyed fellow is seen relaxing in an elaborate alchemy lab, leaning back and apparently absorbed in deep thought. As she watches him, Panshzek belches forth several great puffs of a thick, yellow smoke.

-----

Next, she scrys Cranzer of Riftcrag, the member of the Lesser Boneheart in charge of organizing the various groups searching for the Seven Stones. Surprisingly, Cranzer is seen lying face-down on a torturer’s table, while a wretched creature stands over him. His torturer is actually a pair of orcs, joined together at the hip and shoulder. The orcs share a single misshapen torso, and the rattle in their breath indicates that they suffer from an advanced lung disease. The orcs are slowly peeling away layers of skin from Cranzer’s back, and anointing the raw flesh with some sort of ointment. The whole process seems to be putting Cranzer into extreme pain, judging by his pleading screams.

In a lull from his anguished begging, an unseen woman’s voice is distinctly heard. “Get on with it,” she says. “I did not order you to amuse yourselves.”

-----

Disgusted, Prisantha breaks the scrying and attunes her crystal ball to her next subject, Maskaleyne, the necromancer who was working with Martak and Festering.

This unfortunate wretch is seen to be standing within a soiled privy, holding the door closed and shuddering violently. The sounds of a large gathering and laughter can be heard through the door. As Prisantha watches, a vast gobbet of something flows forth from Maskaleyne’s mouth—a gobbet that is entirely composed of writhing maggots. Maskaleyne does not seem to be vomiting them up, they are fluidly oozing from his mouth as if fleeing his insides. Just as Pris thinks she has seen the worst, Maskaleyne bends to the filthy ground, and begins scooping up the maggots, swallowing them again in great handfuls.

That done, the necromancer forces a stiff smile onto his face, and returns to his party—humans and half-orcs stand together in small groups drinking wine, and talking to one another. Several of the group are dressed in the garments of the Great Kindgom, and proudly wear the unholy symbols of Hextor.

Maskaleyne approaches one of these priests and takes his hand, saying “Welcome to Stoink, your excellency. I trust your journey was pleasant?”

-----

Heydricus prompts Prisantha to have a look at the leader of the orcish forces at Nevond Nevnend. Prisantha gazes into her crystal ball and sees a huge brute, large even by orcish standards, sitting on his heels in an unlit room, and rocking back and forth. He sweats profusely, and is intently sharpening a dagger. The knife has been nearly whittled away to nothing through his efforts, and his fingers are bleeding.

-----

The leader of the Stonefisters at Nevond Nevnend is also scryed, and the paunchy fellow is seen sitting at a feast. But it is a sparse feast indeed. While there are several dishes, there appear to be only few ingredients—turnips, roots and coarse local meal. The Stonefister eats with no relish, but great velocity.

-----

Lastly, Prisantha turns her scrying on Zeflen, the ruler of Calibut. But when directed to him, her scrying acts strangely. Her sensor shows her first a shuffling peasant, then several more. The sensor jumps from person to person, as one citizen engages another in mundane business. Frustrated, Prisantha wills the sensor to find Zeflen, and finally, the vision focuses on a mass of velvet darkness that oozes like mist. Within this blackness a pair of red eyes appear, and gaze directly at her. Prisantha feels a mental presence struggle for control of the sensor, refusing to let her break off contact.

Dabus and Heydricus see Prisantha stiffen, and are shocked to witness a misty smoke rise from the crystal ball and settle on the table, behaving nothing like real smoke should. Dabus asks “Is this normal?” but answers his own rhetorical question with a dispel magic. Fortunately, his spell is effective, and Prisantha is able to break the scrying as the inky smoke disappears.

“That is quite enough of that,” Prisantha says to herself, as she places the crystal ball back within its case. “I was going to spy on Gwendolyn today, but I’ve lost my appetite for it.”

-----
Next: Pris and Heydricus take an afternoon outing!

 

[(contact)]

What a dumbass!

So there I was, virtual shears in my hand, all set to do some bump-pruning, when I realized the 'delete' button meant the entire thread. The good news is that it's easy for me to repost the logs, but now all of your hilarious and insightful commentary is lost to the ages. My apologies to all of you-- while we don't know what you said, let's just say we do and all have a laugh.

If any of you archived the thread, please email me at cklarock@hotmail.com.

Ahem. Back to business. Clicky clicky linky linky:

The Liberators' Past: The TOEE2 Story Hour thread.

The Liberators' Present: The LoT Rogues' Gallery thread.

The Liberators' Future: The LoT Plots and Pieces thread.

What We Game When Prisantha Can't Make It: The Risen Goddess.

In addition, I have .rtf versions of all of these logs on my website, the Rekatorium. Just email me at cklarock@hotmail.com and I'll get you a copy.

----------------
Thanks for reading, and remember-- take it one level at a time, kill everything, and move on!

 

[Plane Sailing]

So, that will teach you to go mad with your Power

I'm afraid that the only real answer is to write less compelling story-hours. Yep, that's the answer

 

[Joshua Randall]

Re: What a dumbass!

Take it one level at a time, kill everything, and move on!

I was going to make this my screen-saver quote, but I didn't want to have to explain myself to the director of human resources.

 

[(contact)]

Wealsun 13, CY 593
40: Afternoon appointments.

The next morning, all of the Liberators are gathered for a strategy session. Jespo arrives sporting a newly crafted circlet (that looks just like Prisantha’s) along with a newly crafted amulet (that also looks just like Prisantha’s). Thrommel exchanges hearty well-mets with everyone he hasn’t seen since yesterday, and pounds Pris on the back, stating how glad he is to have her “back on the team and pulling in for the big win”, whatever that’s supposed to mean.

Heydricus announces that his hawk familiar has located several small communities of Tenha hiding in the mountains near Cur’ruth. Heydricus has invited them to join the Liberators in the mines, or at the least to consider the place as a refuge in times of need.

The group discusses their options, and decides that first things are first, and they need to complete their destruction of the Iuzian necromantic troika by putting Maskaleyne to the sword. After that, who can say, but facing the entity known as Zeflen is definitely out for the time being. The group debates disrupting the shipping route for Calibut ore, but finally decides that the first they want Zeflen to hear of any trouble is the sucking sound of a sword shoved between his ribs. (Or whatever it is exactly that he has, since he probably does not have any ribs.)

So Maskaleyne is promoted to #1 on the “to do” list, with Nevond Nevnend a likely second choice.

After the meeting, Pris coyly mentions that she is off to Hommlet for an afternoon appointment.

“What?” Heydricus says, and in case he wasn’t clear, says “What?” a second time. “An appointment? With whom?”

“Don’t you remember Anon?” Pris asks, “the cleric of Tritherion who gave me that lovely silver dagger the last time we were in Hommlet. I have a lunch date with him.”

“Date?” Heydricus says. “What? The hayseed? That country bumpkin?”

“No, no,” Jespo says. “You’re thinking of the commander there. Prisantha is referring to that tall young fellow, with the cleft chin and blue eyes.”

“They’re hazel, actually,” Prisantha says wistfully.

“What?” Heydricus says.

“If you recall sir,” Dabus says, “we left a contingent of clerics with Prisantha’s grandparents to guard them against our enemies. Last we saw them, Prisantha’s grandfather had been putting them to work in his fields.”

“Oh I remember,” Heydricus says quietly. After a moment he perks up. “That’s great, Pris. I’ll go with you. I want to see Hommlet again, and we can go to Chendl after.”

“Fine,” Prisantha says. “I have some research to do at the Academy of Wizardly Arts, anyway.”

“I’ll cancel your schedule, then, sir?” Dabus asks Heydricus, but there is no reply, as the sorcerer has locked eyes with Prisantha.

“Oh,” Jespo says, breaking the silence. “I’d love to go, thank you, but I’ve so many things to see to.”

“Like slaving over the magical forge for Thrommel,” Heydricus whispers to Dabus.

“But do pass my warmest regards to your family, Pris, and . . . well, that one fellow. Oh, you know. The one who used to dig graves for us on commission.”

“You stay here, Crim,” Thrommel says. “I’ll go.”

“No,” Heydricus says.

“In disguise of course, to blend in with the common folk,” Thrommel states.

“No,” Heydricus says.

“Now look here,” Thrommel says loudly as his face flushes. “I am your sovereign and your better, and I don’t take orders from you.”

Prisantha quietly offers this suggestion: “You should stay, my lord. The men need you here.”

Suddenly, Thrommel pauses in mid-rant and says “Well, you’re right again Pris. No, no, I’m staying.” He glares at Heydricus and arches his eyebrows. “The men need me.”

-----

Within minutes, Prisantha and Heydricus are standing in front of her grandparents’ farm. Grandma is nowhere to be seen, but Anon and another cleric are taking a break on the porch. They have just come in from the fields, and Anon stands shirtless, one foot on the ground and the other on the porch steps. He is sweaty and dust-covered, and as the duo approach, Anon is slowly wiping his brow with a cool drink.

“Prisantha!” he says, setting his drink aside. “Heydricus!”

The other cleric is playing with a turtle, an unusually aggressive beast that keeps charging at the cleric, hissing all the while, only to be pushed back by a broom wielded by the laughing man. When questioned, he says that the turtle was a pet of some adventurers who rented one of the farmhouses a while back, and was left behind.

“It’s the damndest thing,” the cleric says. “This turtle’s mean as hell, and all it does is drink whisky all day long and bite people.”

One dispel magic from Prisantha later, Heydricus’ suspicion that the turtle is actually a polymorphed adventurer is proven correct. The former turtle is a human male—a grizzled and scarred soldier, and claims that he was set upon by his companions, then turned into a turtle and forced to eat lettuce all day.

“Arguin,” Heydricus says after a moment. “Arguin Medfellow! We served together in the Furyondian light infantry. It’s me, Heydricus!”

“Heydricus?” Arguin shouts. “Well hang me for a deserter, look at you!” Arguin takes in Heydricus’ magical equipment. “You’ve done well for yourself.”

Heydricus wrinkles his nose at Arguin’s whiskey and lettuce breath. “You have no idea. So.”

Arguin takes Prisantha’s hand and gives her his best charming leer. “You saved my life, lady. I owe you. Wherever you go, I will follow, and your enemies are mine until the day I die.”

“Why thank you, Arguin,” Prisantha says, removing her hand from his. “That’s very kind of you to say.” Pris turns to Anon. “You should clean up. I’ve come to take you to lunch.”

“All of you,” Heydricus says, “We’re taking you all to lunch.”

“Does the inn serve lunch?” Anon asks.

-----

As it turns out, the inn does not serve lunch, but for the Heroes of the Temple, the staff at Kelanen’s Rest will make an exception. A grand feast is hastily prepared, and the motley crew of adventurers, former turtles and farming clerics sits down to a meal. Arguin throws back shot after shot of dwarven whisky, and regales the assembled group with stories of his soldiering days trying to defend the Shieldlands during the Great War, then his service in Geoff against the giants. As he grows more intoxicated, his stories become more melancholy, and he starts listing the names of all the soldiers who died under his command.

“Have you ever been face down in mud that you know isn’t all mud,” he slurs, “too scared to put your head up out of the filth because the gods-damned wizards are disintegrating everything in sight? Well have you?” He pounds on the table, and a lone tear runs down his cheek. “Do you know what it is like to try to keep the guts of your best friend inside the poor son of a bitch only to look up and see giants overrunning your gods-damned cavalry position? Do you?”

The clerics of Tritherion nearest him reply that they do not.

“Well, do you?” Arguin asks again. “Do you?”

Pris tries her best to corner Anon amongst the general chaos, and lavishes attention on the young lad, but Heydricus has interposed himself between Prisantha and the young cleric. Anon seems unaware of the tension, and spends his time pressing Heydricus for news about his Great Crusade, and asking for stories about recent battles. Heydricus keeps a wooden smile on his face, but his knuckles are white, and he holds his glass in a death-grip.

Anon mentions that Prisantha’s grandfather insists that each of the clerics guarding the farm work in the fields as well. He goes into some detail about the farming life, and says the life agrees with him.

“Yes,” Pris says. “You look well.”

“Yeah, farmers are great,” Heydricus says. “We can’t all be adventurers, can we. Shall we go?” He leans in to Prisantha. “Let’s ditch the drunk.”

As she prepares the teleport, Pris pats Anon on the butt. “See you soon,” she says and disappears.

-----

Prisantha teleports herself and Heydricus to Chendl, just outside of the Great School of Magic. She tells Heydricus that she must begin her Important Research, and he agrees to meet her back at in front of the School at sundown.

But once inside, Prisantha pays only a token visit, dropping in to see her mentor Balin and ask him again about admitting Jespo Crim to the Great School of Magic.

“Pris,” he says, “You know I’d love to, but my hands are tied on the subject.”

“He’s gotten much better, Balin.”

“It’s not an issue of his talent, Pris.”

“I could tell him not to talk quite as much,” Prisantha says helpfully.

Balin regards her squarely. “It’s not his personality, dear. Your friend Jespo has many powerful enemies and is disliked in Very High Places. I couldn’t easily admit him even if I were the dean, which of course, I am not.”

“Then some other school, perhaps.” Pris says. “Somewhere nearby.”

“Well,” Balin says thoughtfully. “They have opened a school in Willip now.”

“That’s wonderful!”

“But it’s not a very good school.”

“Oh, he’s not a very good conjurer. It’ll be perfect.”

After her meeting with the dean, Prisantha sneaks out the back way and takes a carriage to the Gilded Swan Boutique and Curiosity Shoppe, the storefront owned and operated by the very same Viscountess Trill whose Handbook of Ladylike Fashion inspired Prisantha’s most recent make-over.

Inside, Prisantha undergoes a personal consultation, picks up several tailored adventuring outfits designed for her “season” (she’s a Fall, you know), and learns the basics of cosmetic application. After a coiffure and manicure, the Enchantress of Verbobonc is ready to return to Tenh.

Heydricus, meanwhile has been spending his afternoon smoothing his rumpled ego with an afternoon spent in the company of the Duchess Maia.

As he arrives, Heydricus enters the Duchess’ sun-room and dismisses her staff.

“Beory’s Gift,” she says, looking at his Flan clothing. “You’ve gone native.”

Heydricus takes a bite from a slice of fruit on the table. “How’ve you been, Maia?”

“Lonely,” she says, leaning forward.

“You should come to Tenh some time,” Heydricus says as he pours himself a drink.

“It’s ugly there,” Maia says.

“Not inside the fortress.”

“It’s boring.”

“Not in my room.”

“It’s dangerous.”

Heydricus regards her evenly, and removes his cloak. “You’re never in danger with me around.”

Maia smiles and says, “Oh, but my reputation is. Still, I just might take you up on that offer someday.”

-----

When Maia’s carriage finally drops Heydricus off at his rendezvous, Pris is furious. “You’re half an hour late!” She fumes. “Where were you?”

“You know, I’m in the process of raising some funds . . . for the boys. Long term prospects.”

“You look awful, Heydricus. Your clothes are a mess.”

“Oh yeah, you know these rich nobles,” Heydricus says as he tucks in his shirt. “You have to take a turn at the tilts with them. They love to talk money over their sport.”

“You’ve been tilting.”

“Yeah . . . tilting. Are you ready to go home?”

“Did you raise your funds?” Pris asks pointedly.

“Well, you know, Pris. Long term prospects, that kind of thing.”

“Maybe you’re not pushing a hard enough sale—maybe you need some help.”

“Oh, no. No, it’s hard enough. Let’s get back to Tenh before Thrommel dies again, shall we?”

 

[Zaruthustran]

Brilliant.