The Liberation of Tenh (updated April 24)
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Explorer
Patchwall 7, CY 593
76—Mind the Master
Prisantha invokes the divination, and her scrying reveals what appears to be a cave deep beneath the earth; massive sharpened stalagmites and stalactites cover nearly every surface within the place, giving the inescapable impression of a damp and toothy maw. A black fog boils over the ground, but there is no enemy visible.
“You are sure you cast for Zeflen?” Jespo asks. Prisantha does not answer, but Gwendolyn pinches him and scowls.
“So the beast would hide itself,” Belvor scoffs. “No matter—he cannot hide from Heironeous.”
Prisantha gazes at her crystal ball of true seeing longingly, but recalling the time spent lovingly crafting it, she decides against using it. Whatever will be will be, she decides, and no use throwing fat after gristle.
The wizards have prepared powerful abjurations for each member of the party. Gwendolyn assures the group that whatever mind-affecting abilities Zeflen might have, they won’t penetrate a mind blank! Unfortunately, neither will anything else, including the party’s customary telepathic bond. Nonetheless, they complete their preparations, and teleport into the unknown.
The cave is as damp as it looked, and despite the high ceiling, a suffocating sensation permeates the air. The temperature is wrong—far too cold to be underground, yet where else could this place be? Belvor concentrates for a moment, and summons his mount. Indomitable arrives, a gloriously radiant stallion, cream fading to chestnut at his points. Belvor leaps into the saddle, and strikes a heroic pose, drawing his sword from his scabbard, and holding it high, that the Liberators might have a look around.
Belvor’s sword radiates a clean, white light that illuminates the mineral-encrusted protrusions and casts long shadows into the misty spaces sensed, but not seen. The charcoal-colored fog whirls around the feet of the party moving despite the stillness of the air.
“Teeth,” Regda says. Her voice seems far too loud for such an enclosed space.
“What is that my dear?” Jespo whispers.
“They look like teeth.” Regda is pointing at the stalactites.
Belvor frowns and nods to himself. There is a great evil here he is sure, but he cannot discern whether the evil is coming from an entity, or the location itself. He begins to concentrate and prepare himself to manifest Heironeous’ grace within the mortal sphere—a brief and radiant burst of positive energy intended to draw forth the hidden enemy, or send it fleeing in terror. But before he can complete his prayer, Belvor stiffens slightly and slumps forward in his saddle, completely limp. His blade falls to the ground, its radiance illuminating a bubble of mist before slowly fading away.
“Belvor!” Heydricus rushes to his side. The king does not respond to either touch or word. Lucius removes a levitating light-stone from his pouch and flings it into the air above the party before drawing his own weapon. He squints into the mist, but no enemy can be seen.
Indomitable prances nervously for a brief moment, and then stops moving altogether. The horse is breathing, and its eyes roll about in its head as it regards the Liberators, but it makes no other movements, large or small. Even as Indomitable freezes, the dark mist begins to coverge upon the heroes in cascading waves.
Gwendolyn reaches into her waist-pouches and removes the material components for a greater dispelling. As she begins to chant and intone the words to her spell, she too falls silently to the ground, and is lost from sight.
The Liberators begin to panic, their careful plans forgotten in the face of two disabled companions with no foe to show for it. Jespo flies halfway to the ceiling, and pulls the hem of his robes up to his knees, just in case. Lucius takes advantage of the shadows cast by his levitating stone to hide and keep a wary eye on his surroundings. Regda charges nearly out to the limit of the light, swiveling her head from left to right, searching fruitlessly for enemies.
Heydricus, for his part, casts see invisible, and as he does so his eyes widen in shock. The dark mist surrounding the Liberators extends fully into the etheric plane. Or rather, the mist is itself the physical extension of an etheric creature; to Heydricus’ magically enhanced vision, the thing is seen to be a huge mass of man-sized gelatinous spheres connected to one another by strands of a ropy vine-like tissue, each globular orb crowned with a number of long, heavily-veined black tentacles. The mass of the thing emits puffs of etheric smoke from thousands of small blow-holes—smoke that extends into the physical. Smoke that even now surrounds the Liberators of Tenh, and has struck two of them down.
“It’s the mist!” Heydricus yells, as he draws his sword with both hands. “The mist is Zeflen!”
Prisantha is the first to act on this information. She has seen two of her friends fall, seemingly without cause, and she intends to end this fight immediately. She nods to Heydricus and casts dominate monster at the fog surrounding her friends. In an instant, she is transported into a mental realm of such indifferent and crushing callousness that her heart literally skips a beat. She becomes aware of Zeflen, aware of the thousands of souls even now laboring toward its grand design in the city far above her head. She becomes aware of the miles of underground caverns that honeycomb the mountain-face, and of a pair of powerful guardians that are even now moving toward her, called by this thing born before time.
In her haste and fright, Prisantha had not considered the possibility that her mind blank spell would supercede and negate the mental connection established by dominate monster. Fortunately for her, it does, and her will is not made instantly subject to the overwhelming weight of Zeflen’s full mental presence. After a flash that seems like an eternity, Prisantha’s consciousness snaps back into her body. She is weakened, but still herself.
Heydricus is cutting and slicing at the mist around his feet, severing etheric tentacles and creating physical whirlpools of dark smoke in the wake of his blade. Lucius and Regda have taken the Liberator’s lead and are likewise attacking the fog.
“I think I hit it!” Regda yells triumphantly.
“I know I did,” Heydricus shouts.
“Good job, honey,” Prisantha says.
Jespo stops himself mid-spell, then dismisses the affectionate sobriquet as the sort of thing that only adventurers who survive their fights care about. He aims a disintegrate ray at the mist before him, but the ray fails to connect with anything substantial, and discharges itself into the cavern floor, opening a man-sized crater where it strikes.
“Beware our flanks!” Prisantha shouts. “There is a dragon to the left and human to the right!”
“Dragon!” Regda shouts. She has never seen a dragon, although she has often wished to.
Regda is to have her wish, as a serpentine neck emerges just within the pool of light, to the Liberators’ left. The head is framed with a horned crest that sweeps away from a sharp and pointed snout like a bony fan. The scales about its mouth are foam-green, but fade to a bright, golden-brown along the rest of the face and the neck. The creature’s eyes are flat and lackluster orbs, entirely (to those in the know) un-dragon-like in their dullness. The burst of lightning that escapes from its mouth is extremely draconic, however, and both Regda and Heydricus are singed by the strike.
Illuminated by the lightning burst, a massive warrior skulks forward on the Liberators’ right. Almost too large to be called a human, he is strapped into a piecemeal suit of plate armor, pale skin contrasting with jet-black metal, both surfaces glistening in the dampness of the cave. The fighter clutches a wickedly serrated two-handed sword, and is crowned with a bat-winged helm as black as his armor, but his most striking feature are his eyes—twin orbs that glow with an inhuman red light.
Heydricus recognizes his foe immediately. This is Uthud the Harvester, called the “Duke of War” by his unfortunate subjects, a former scion of the Horned Society, used by the wicked Hierarchs there as an agent of last resort. The terrible warrior was so powerful, so feared, and his numerous successes so final, that he only accepted payments in one form—that a wish might be cast on his behalf.
Uthud disappeared during the Greyhawk Wars, and while there were some who claimed that he was slain by the Boneshadow when they made their massacre of the devil-worshipping Hierarchs, such claims were mocked at by those who knew better; the Boneheart would not have survived the Greyhawk Wars had Uthud been present. While the most commonly held belief was that he fled the plane altogether, Heydricus realizes that this war-duke has been held here by Zeflen, a prisoner to the will of an ancient thing.
Heydricus should be frightened, and the prospect does cross the Liberator’s mind, but he simply cannot bring himself to dismiss the child-like glee that steals over him when he thinks that within moments, gods willing, he will cross swords with one of the most legendary fighters ever to walk the Flanaess.
Heydricus, Lucius and Regda all converge on Uthud, and the four combatants circle warily. Lucius slips forward, and after taking a cut to the shoulder on his way in, manages to draw second blood, exposing the weakness in Uthud’s choice of armor, if not his legendary fighting skills. Uthud likewise wounds Regda as she approaches, but evades her strikes altogether.
Prisantha, meanwhile, has paid little attention to her new foes, her mind entirely focused on Zeflen. In the span of a single breath, she has inventoried her entire spell-list, considered every possible course of action, and predicted the most likely outcome for each of them, based on what she learned about her foe through her brief contact with its mind. She concludes that there is only one option—and once that conclusion is reached, she acts. She levels her most powerful abjuration at the beast—the spell that is perhaps the most powerful abjuration in existence; Mordenkainen’s disjunction. With that, she literally picks apart all magical and supernatural effects woven around or tied to the creature. In an instant, she has severed its connection with tens of thousands of minds and transformed Zeflen from the hub of a vast mental network to a singular thing—an individual entity for whom self-integrity is the worst kind of torment.
Zeflen pulls away from the Liberators, expressing its agony clearly on the etheric plane, as the tentacles withdraw into their ooze-sacs and the whole of the thing begins to roll and slither away from the foul humans who have done it so much harm. In the physical plane, the mist begins to seep into the darkness, retreating from the battle.
While Jespo does not recognize Prisantha’s spell, he does notice Zeflen’s reaction to it, and he places an acid fog directly into the path of the retreating creature. He reasons, perhaps correctly, that the fog will know its own and burn Zeflen to death. Whatever the case, he cannot be sure, for Zeflen’s response is to re-establish its mental dominance of Indomitable and draw the horse along with its unmoving rider into the conjured fog! Cursing, Jespo is forced do undo his spell almost as soon as he cast it.
As a result of Prisantha’s disjunction, the dragon is freed from its bondage and stops itself mid-breath, allowing the lighting building up within its maw to dissipate and ground harmlessly. The creature shakes its head several times, and flutters its wings—a gesture that produces a powerful breeze that stirs the combatant’s clothing, but does not move the various mists playing about the room at all.
Uthud feigns confusion (or more accurately exaggerates his confusion), and uses his new-found freedom to pursue the same agenda it shared with Zeflen only a moment ago. Uthud leaps at Lucius, working well within the smaller man’s reach, reversing his grip on his blade, and using the edge of his great-sword like a lever against the rogues’ back and neck. Heydricus has never seen this unconventional maneuver before, but cannot argue with its effectiveness. By the time the war-duke has regained his grip on his weapon’s pommel, and used it to knock Regda off her feet, Lucius has already fallen to his knees, gasping and trying without success to remain conscious.
Regda may not be the sharpest edge in the armory, but even so, she does not need any outside observer to point out how badly out-classed she is, nor to remind her that with two blows the vile swordsman has nearly killed her. She regains her feet, placing her guard before her and backs away carefully, allowing Heydricus to take her place within Uthud’s deadly reach. Heydricus does so gleefully, and without any preamble, opens the war-duke’s breastplate with a series of crushing blows.
“How do you like that, warbitch?” he sneers. “Got any wishes to save your ass?”
Uthud regards him coldly and counterattacks, beating Heydricus back onto his heels, opening gashes that seem to bleed well beyond their severity. “As a matter of fact, I do.” Uthud’s voice is cold and distant. “I will let you know if we are joined by an opponent worthy of one, worm.”
The insult reminds Heydricus of the dragon at his back, and he spares a quick glance, enough to ascertain that somehow, the creature is no longer hostile. “That’s my Pris,” he says to himself as a grin spreads across his face.
Prisantha does not hear the compliment—she is involved with a horrid wilting spell that pulls some of the mist that is Zeflen from the air, while Jespo disintegrates another section. In response, Zeflen sends Indomitable charging toward Prisantha, kicking wildly. At this, Belvor falls limply from the saddle, but the horse has trouble gaining speed amongst the stalagmites, and Pris is able avoid the charge altogether.
Redga fires an arrow into Uthud’s exposed midsection, bounces one off his armor, and sends one wide. The war-duke ignores the missiles and concentrates on Heydricus. He cuts the hardy sorcerer again, wounding him gravely. Heydricus retaliates with a flurry of his own, and just as he is growing confident that the fight has tipped in his favor, Uthud’s head and half of his right shoulder disappear into the maw of the bronze dragon.
Heydricus stares at the dragon for a moment and remarks, “Shoulda used that wish,” as he charges into the retreating mist. Immortal does not mean eternal, after all.
76—Mind the Master
Prisantha invokes the divination, and her scrying reveals what appears to be a cave deep beneath the earth; massive sharpened stalagmites and stalactites cover nearly every surface within the place, giving the inescapable impression of a damp and toothy maw. A black fog boils over the ground, but there is no enemy visible.
“You are sure you cast for Zeflen?” Jespo asks. Prisantha does not answer, but Gwendolyn pinches him and scowls.
“So the beast would hide itself,” Belvor scoffs. “No matter—he cannot hide from Heironeous.”
Prisantha gazes at her crystal ball of true seeing longingly, but recalling the time spent lovingly crafting it, she decides against using it. Whatever will be will be, she decides, and no use throwing fat after gristle.
The wizards have prepared powerful abjurations for each member of the party. Gwendolyn assures the group that whatever mind-affecting abilities Zeflen might have, they won’t penetrate a mind blank! Unfortunately, neither will anything else, including the party’s customary telepathic bond. Nonetheless, they complete their preparations, and teleport into the unknown.
The cave is as damp as it looked, and despite the high ceiling, a suffocating sensation permeates the air. The temperature is wrong—far too cold to be underground, yet where else could this place be? Belvor concentrates for a moment, and summons his mount. Indomitable arrives, a gloriously radiant stallion, cream fading to chestnut at his points. Belvor leaps into the saddle, and strikes a heroic pose, drawing his sword from his scabbard, and holding it high, that the Liberators might have a look around.
Belvor’s sword radiates a clean, white light that illuminates the mineral-encrusted protrusions and casts long shadows into the misty spaces sensed, but not seen. The charcoal-colored fog whirls around the feet of the party moving despite the stillness of the air.
“Teeth,” Regda says. Her voice seems far too loud for such an enclosed space.
“What is that my dear?” Jespo whispers.
“They look like teeth.” Regda is pointing at the stalactites.
Belvor frowns and nods to himself. There is a great evil here he is sure, but he cannot discern whether the evil is coming from an entity, or the location itself. He begins to concentrate and prepare himself to manifest Heironeous’ grace within the mortal sphere—a brief and radiant burst of positive energy intended to draw forth the hidden enemy, or send it fleeing in terror. But before he can complete his prayer, Belvor stiffens slightly and slumps forward in his saddle, completely limp. His blade falls to the ground, its radiance illuminating a bubble of mist before slowly fading away.
“Belvor!” Heydricus rushes to his side. The king does not respond to either touch or word. Lucius removes a levitating light-stone from his pouch and flings it into the air above the party before drawing his own weapon. He squints into the mist, but no enemy can be seen.
Indomitable prances nervously for a brief moment, and then stops moving altogether. The horse is breathing, and its eyes roll about in its head as it regards the Liberators, but it makes no other movements, large or small. Even as Indomitable freezes, the dark mist begins to coverge upon the heroes in cascading waves.
Gwendolyn reaches into her waist-pouches and removes the material components for a greater dispelling. As she begins to chant and intone the words to her spell, she too falls silently to the ground, and is lost from sight.
The Liberators begin to panic, their careful plans forgotten in the face of two disabled companions with no foe to show for it. Jespo flies halfway to the ceiling, and pulls the hem of his robes up to his knees, just in case. Lucius takes advantage of the shadows cast by his levitating stone to hide and keep a wary eye on his surroundings. Regda charges nearly out to the limit of the light, swiveling her head from left to right, searching fruitlessly for enemies.
Heydricus, for his part, casts see invisible, and as he does so his eyes widen in shock. The dark mist surrounding the Liberators extends fully into the etheric plane. Or rather, the mist is itself the physical extension of an etheric creature; to Heydricus’ magically enhanced vision, the thing is seen to be a huge mass of man-sized gelatinous spheres connected to one another by strands of a ropy vine-like tissue, each globular orb crowned with a number of long, heavily-veined black tentacles. The mass of the thing emits puffs of etheric smoke from thousands of small blow-holes—smoke that extends into the physical. Smoke that even now surrounds the Liberators of Tenh, and has struck two of them down.
“It’s the mist!” Heydricus yells, as he draws his sword with both hands. “The mist is Zeflen!”
Prisantha is the first to act on this information. She has seen two of her friends fall, seemingly without cause, and she intends to end this fight immediately. She nods to Heydricus and casts dominate monster at the fog surrounding her friends. In an instant, she is transported into a mental realm of such indifferent and crushing callousness that her heart literally skips a beat. She becomes aware of Zeflen, aware of the thousands of souls even now laboring toward its grand design in the city far above her head. She becomes aware of the miles of underground caverns that honeycomb the mountain-face, and of a pair of powerful guardians that are even now moving toward her, called by this thing born before time.
In her haste and fright, Prisantha had not considered the possibility that her mind blank spell would supercede and negate the mental connection established by dominate monster. Fortunately for her, it does, and her will is not made instantly subject to the overwhelming weight of Zeflen’s full mental presence. After a flash that seems like an eternity, Prisantha’s consciousness snaps back into her body. She is weakened, but still herself.
Heydricus is cutting and slicing at the mist around his feet, severing etheric tentacles and creating physical whirlpools of dark smoke in the wake of his blade. Lucius and Regda have taken the Liberator’s lead and are likewise attacking the fog.
“I think I hit it!” Regda yells triumphantly.
“I know I did,” Heydricus shouts.
“Good job, honey,” Prisantha says.
Jespo stops himself mid-spell, then dismisses the affectionate sobriquet as the sort of thing that only adventurers who survive their fights care about. He aims a disintegrate ray at the mist before him, but the ray fails to connect with anything substantial, and discharges itself into the cavern floor, opening a man-sized crater where it strikes.
“Beware our flanks!” Prisantha shouts. “There is a dragon to the left and human to the right!”
“Dragon!” Regda shouts. She has never seen a dragon, although she has often wished to.
Regda is to have her wish, as a serpentine neck emerges just within the pool of light, to the Liberators’ left. The head is framed with a horned crest that sweeps away from a sharp and pointed snout like a bony fan. The scales about its mouth are foam-green, but fade to a bright, golden-brown along the rest of the face and the neck. The creature’s eyes are flat and lackluster orbs, entirely (to those in the know) un-dragon-like in their dullness. The burst of lightning that escapes from its mouth is extremely draconic, however, and both Regda and Heydricus are singed by the strike.
Illuminated by the lightning burst, a massive warrior skulks forward on the Liberators’ right. Almost too large to be called a human, he is strapped into a piecemeal suit of plate armor, pale skin contrasting with jet-black metal, both surfaces glistening in the dampness of the cave. The fighter clutches a wickedly serrated two-handed sword, and is crowned with a bat-winged helm as black as his armor, but his most striking feature are his eyes—twin orbs that glow with an inhuman red light.
Heydricus recognizes his foe immediately. This is Uthud the Harvester, called the “Duke of War” by his unfortunate subjects, a former scion of the Horned Society, used by the wicked Hierarchs there as an agent of last resort. The terrible warrior was so powerful, so feared, and his numerous successes so final, that he only accepted payments in one form—that a wish might be cast on his behalf.
Uthud disappeared during the Greyhawk Wars, and while there were some who claimed that he was slain by the Boneshadow when they made their massacre of the devil-worshipping Hierarchs, such claims were mocked at by those who knew better; the Boneheart would not have survived the Greyhawk Wars had Uthud been present. While the most commonly held belief was that he fled the plane altogether, Heydricus realizes that this war-duke has been held here by Zeflen, a prisoner to the will of an ancient thing.
Heydricus should be frightened, and the prospect does cross the Liberator’s mind, but he simply cannot bring himself to dismiss the child-like glee that steals over him when he thinks that within moments, gods willing, he will cross swords with one of the most legendary fighters ever to walk the Flanaess.
Heydricus, Lucius and Regda all converge on Uthud, and the four combatants circle warily. Lucius slips forward, and after taking a cut to the shoulder on his way in, manages to draw second blood, exposing the weakness in Uthud’s choice of armor, if not his legendary fighting skills. Uthud likewise wounds Regda as she approaches, but evades her strikes altogether.
Prisantha, meanwhile, has paid little attention to her new foes, her mind entirely focused on Zeflen. In the span of a single breath, she has inventoried her entire spell-list, considered every possible course of action, and predicted the most likely outcome for each of them, based on what she learned about her foe through her brief contact with its mind. She concludes that there is only one option—and once that conclusion is reached, she acts. She levels her most powerful abjuration at the beast—the spell that is perhaps the most powerful abjuration in existence; Mordenkainen’s disjunction. With that, she literally picks apart all magical and supernatural effects woven around or tied to the creature. In an instant, she has severed its connection with tens of thousands of minds and transformed Zeflen from the hub of a vast mental network to a singular thing—an individual entity for whom self-integrity is the worst kind of torment.
Zeflen pulls away from the Liberators, expressing its agony clearly on the etheric plane, as the tentacles withdraw into their ooze-sacs and the whole of the thing begins to roll and slither away from the foul humans who have done it so much harm. In the physical plane, the mist begins to seep into the darkness, retreating from the battle.
While Jespo does not recognize Prisantha’s spell, he does notice Zeflen’s reaction to it, and he places an acid fog directly into the path of the retreating creature. He reasons, perhaps correctly, that the fog will know its own and burn Zeflen to death. Whatever the case, he cannot be sure, for Zeflen’s response is to re-establish its mental dominance of Indomitable and draw the horse along with its unmoving rider into the conjured fog! Cursing, Jespo is forced do undo his spell almost as soon as he cast it.
As a result of Prisantha’s disjunction, the dragon is freed from its bondage and stops itself mid-breath, allowing the lighting building up within its maw to dissipate and ground harmlessly. The creature shakes its head several times, and flutters its wings—a gesture that produces a powerful breeze that stirs the combatant’s clothing, but does not move the various mists playing about the room at all.
Uthud feigns confusion (or more accurately exaggerates his confusion), and uses his new-found freedom to pursue the same agenda it shared with Zeflen only a moment ago. Uthud leaps at Lucius, working well within the smaller man’s reach, reversing his grip on his blade, and using the edge of his great-sword like a lever against the rogues’ back and neck. Heydricus has never seen this unconventional maneuver before, but cannot argue with its effectiveness. By the time the war-duke has regained his grip on his weapon’s pommel, and used it to knock Regda off her feet, Lucius has already fallen to his knees, gasping and trying without success to remain conscious.
Regda may not be the sharpest edge in the armory, but even so, she does not need any outside observer to point out how badly out-classed she is, nor to remind her that with two blows the vile swordsman has nearly killed her. She regains her feet, placing her guard before her and backs away carefully, allowing Heydricus to take her place within Uthud’s deadly reach. Heydricus does so gleefully, and without any preamble, opens the war-duke’s breastplate with a series of crushing blows.
“How do you like that, warbitch?” he sneers. “Got any wishes to save your ass?”
Uthud regards him coldly and counterattacks, beating Heydricus back onto his heels, opening gashes that seem to bleed well beyond their severity. “As a matter of fact, I do.” Uthud’s voice is cold and distant. “I will let you know if we are joined by an opponent worthy of one, worm.”
The insult reminds Heydricus of the dragon at his back, and he spares a quick glance, enough to ascertain that somehow, the creature is no longer hostile. “That’s my Pris,” he says to himself as a grin spreads across his face.
Prisantha does not hear the compliment—she is involved with a horrid wilting spell that pulls some of the mist that is Zeflen from the air, while Jespo disintegrates another section. In response, Zeflen sends Indomitable charging toward Prisantha, kicking wildly. At this, Belvor falls limply from the saddle, but the horse has trouble gaining speed amongst the stalagmites, and Pris is able avoid the charge altogether.
Redga fires an arrow into Uthud’s exposed midsection, bounces one off his armor, and sends one wide. The war-duke ignores the missiles and concentrates on Heydricus. He cuts the hardy sorcerer again, wounding him gravely. Heydricus retaliates with a flurry of his own, and just as he is growing confident that the fight has tipped in his favor, Uthud’s head and half of his right shoulder disappear into the maw of the bronze dragon.
Heydricus stares at the dragon for a moment and remarks, “Shoulda used that wish,” as he charges into the retreating mist. Immortal does not mean eternal, after all.
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Great fight and so much FUN!
I love the descriptions you use in this story hour, (contact). Especially the brief glimpse of the creature's mind that Prisantha received.
Curious about two things, though:
1) How did Pris figure out the Disjunction? Spellcraft? Knowledge: Arcana? Lucky player guess?
2) How did the Liberators originally get on the wrong side of Zeflen? I can't recall what first added his name to "The List".
I love the descriptions you use in this story hour, (contact). Especially the brief glimpse of the creature's mind that Prisantha received.
Curious about two things, though:
1) How did Pris figure out the Disjunction? Spellcraft? Knowledge: Arcana? Lucky player guess?
2) How did the Liberators originally get on the wrong side of Zeflen? I can't recall what first added his name to "The List".
KidCthulhu
First Post
(contact) said:
Color me the same shade of mystified as Jespo. You'd hinted at somethin' going on, but hey, we've gotten to "honey" already!?
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(contact)
Explorer
wolff96 said:
1) Smart player guess / "this is my most buh-DASS spell."
2) Calibut is the former capitol of Tenh. Zeflen is in the books as the Iuzian administering the place-- I wanted him to be a little more interesting than the parade of morally degenerate Iuzian spellcasters the Liberators had been pounding on recently.
Que Piratecat. Remember the intelligent advanced black ooze his PCs fought last year? That's Zeflen. I added touches here and there, slapped on a template or two, then gave it an dominate monster ability with no HD cap, and a 3-mile range.
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KidCthulhu
First Post
(contact) said:
Oh, is that all? I'm surprised it gave them so much trouble.
(contact)
Explorer
Strongheart was tortured to death by Zinvellon off-screen when the party was still 4th level. Sorry.
As a note, my players had never seen the Warduke action figure, and missed the toy reference entirely, but they were really excited about his backstory. It made him fun to fight (paid in wishes-- cool), and when he killed Lucius then nearly killed Regda in one round, they caught a healthy dose of teh feer.
For the curious, I added Zeflen to the Rogue's Gallery: The Plauge of Will.
As a note, my players had never seen the Warduke action figure, and missed the toy reference entirely, but they were really excited about his backstory. It made him fun to fight (paid in wishes-- cool), and when he killed Lucius then nearly killed Regda in one round, they caught a healthy dose of teh feer.
For the curious, I added Zeflen to the Rogue's Gallery: The Plauge of Will.
Joshua Randall
Legend
Noooooooo! I rend my Strongheart action figure in sorrow.
Next you'll tell me that Elkhorn retired and took up bean-farming....
Next you'll tell me that Elkhorn retired and took up bean-farming....
Zaruthustran
The tingling means it’s working!
(contact) said:
Killed Lucius? No!
-z
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