The Liberation of Tenh (updated April 24)
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Elder-Basilisk
First Post
Of course, it remains to be seen whether they'll be permitted to bleed in peace or the Pholtans will come after them. It's what I'd do if I were in charge.
(contact)
Explorer
Me too, but we'd need more guys. The Liberators just puh-hunked our three top classed characters and made off with two of the corpses! Who would we send? The tenth level adventurers?
The Pholtans are not in their happy place anyway, what with the *wicked* infighting over the question of succession to the High Prelate's throne, and there is a reluctance to pull out all stops (since some of those resources might be needed to bully/intimidate/batter the guy sitting next to you).
The Church Inquisitors are the group least likely to care about Wintershiven politics, and most likely to organize and go after the Liberators. They just won't do it quickly. Plus, Heydricus killed the
out of their two top leaders. Eep.
The Pholtans are not in their happy place anyway, what with the *wicked* infighting over the question of succession to the High Prelate's throne, and there is a reluctance to pull out all stops (since some of those resources might be needed to bully/intimidate/batter the guy sitting next to you).
The Church Inquisitors are the group least likely to care about Wintershiven politics, and most likely to organize and go after the Liberators. They just won't do it quickly. Plus, Heydricus killed the
out of their two top leaders. Eep.Elder-Basilisk
First Post
Well there's that. But, in the Liberators' current state, well buffed 10th level adventurers with the teleport surprise trick going on might just manage it. (Toss in a few 11th level adventurers for antimagic shells and the Liberators would really be in for it seeing as Heydricus and Lucius are the only ones left who are much good at physical combat--heck, throw some grappling focussed monks in there and Heydricus and Lucius might well be out of it too). They'd certainly have better odds than they will for stopping the Liberators once they have a chance to rest and recuperate.
Either that or a Hit squad composed of Inevitables. (Bust out the scrolls of gate and/or Planar ally stored under Wintershiven and get some vengeance cooking).
Either that or a Hit squad composed of Inevitables. (Bust out the scrolls of gate and/or Planar ally stored under Wintershiven and get some vengeance cooking).
(contact) said:
(contact)
Explorer
A trio of really large men in black suits step out of an unmarked black car and pull Elder-Basilsk inside. As the car pulls away from the curb, two of the goons fail their saves against his turn-to-stone gaze, but the third rolls a 20. This last tough guy closes his eyes and shoves E-B out of the car directly in front of this thread: http://www.enworld.org/forums/showthread.php?t=121&page=1&pp=25
Joshua Randall
Legend
Inevitables... been reading Sepulchrave's story hour, have you?
Also, shouldn't Int 28 Prisantha have known that constructs are immune to mind-affecting spells? I mean, she should be able to make Knowledge (Arcana) checks about stuff like that in her sleep!
Also, shouldn't Int 28 Prisantha have known that constructs are immune to mind-affecting spells? I mean, she should be able to make Knowledge (Arcana) checks about stuff like that in her sleep!
(contact)
Explorer
Patchwall 16, CY 593
81—No funerals are final.
Heydricus frets as his wounds are bound. This is going to be bad. The Pholtans are going to stay pissed. Of course, they probably won’t do anything about it until after their evening prayers, so no use worrying about it now. That’s like stabbing the food taster, as Lucius would say. Of course, on the other hand, Pholtus is the kind of god who would send an army of constructs to avenge a slight, and if there’s one thing that the Liberators aren’t equipped to fight, it’s constructs.
On the third hand, He’s pretty sure he’s got those things’ number—Tritherion grants a spell that should align his weapon to burn right through their Axiomatic hides, but Heydricus has never bothered to try it out. He is sure, however, that Tritherion won’t be all stingy with it when the time comes. That’s not Tritherion’s style. The spirit of the law is what counts for Tritherion. That is, the spirit would count if Tritherion had a law, which he doesn’t—Tritherion’s teachings are more like general guidelines, or really good advice from a wise and worldly mentor. But as every Tritherionite knows, it’s the Spirit of the Advice that counts: Live free, and crush those who would oppress you. Revenge taken justly is the holiest of sacraments.
Heydricus is torn from his musings by the arrival of Nevond Nevnend’s highest-ranking clerics. As they tend to the wounded, he reflects upon all the clerics he has known; Aelniir, Ahlana, Gnomer, Keriann, Augustin, Halrond, Tau, Dabus. These priests, scurrying from adventurer to adventurer try hard, he thinks, but they are no Dabus. As he admits this, he feels a nearly heretical twinge of sadness. Dabus is in a Better Place . . . hell, it’s the Best Place, but Heydricus can’t get past the nagging suspicion that it’s not the Right Place for his former companion. As he watches Jespo cry, gently consoled by Lucius, Heydricus muses that no matter which side of the Law/Chaos axis Tau decides to get with, he’s never going to be a Dabus . . .
Lucius consoling Jespo?
Heydricus interrupts Lucius’ whispered monologue. The rogue looks up innocently and says, “I got this one H., you better go make sure the other wizards are ready. Pholtans are comin’.”
Heydricus pulls Lucius away from the grieving wizard by the arm. “Stay out of Crim’s head, Lucius.”
“What, I can’t console a friend?” Lucius is laughing. He leans in close. “The Pholtans have to come, Heydricus. We have the bodies of their bosses. Law-and-order types can’t stand it when high-ups don’t get a proper funeral.” Lucius seems inordinately pleased with himself. “Here’s the plan. We dimensional anchor the center of the keep against teleportation but not divination—we want them to know where to go. Then, they have to teleport to the outside of the keep, and fight their way in. Your flunkies will wear them down a little. Not a lot, but enough. I’ve got some traps in mind. By the time they make it to our rooms, we take ‘em. Blood bath, rinse, repeat.”
But Heydricus has moved on. “Cocraine! How much do you know about international law?”
-----
The peace initiative seems to be a success. Regda’s corpse and her gear are wished into Prisantha’s waiting arms, even as the mortal remains of Sir Mathor and Sir Amara are teleported to the High Prelate’s personal suite. Within hours, the new Prelate’s servants have spread the word—it’s a miracle! Praise be to Pholtus, the Magistrates are alive! Within days, both men are back on the job, and none the worse for wear, although perhaps a bit more . . . severe with their judgments than usual. (A blacker spot in an already very black field, to be sure, but the size of the distinction is small condolence to the remainder of the month’s heretical docket.)
-----
“There is a splinter group within the Wintershiven hierarchy,” Tau says. “My companion was privy to many of their secrets.”
“I’m really sorry about him,” Prisantha says, patting Tau’s hand.
Lucius affects a casual air, and spears a first-frost apple with the tip of his dirk. “No sh-t,” he says paying full attention for the first time this morning. “Splinter group of Pholtans? Is that even possible?”
Mialec is taking minutes, as she often does. No one ever consults them, but she takes them down just in case. Jespo Crim refuses to leave his chambers, but all of the other Liberators are present.
“They are foreigners, outsiders,” Tau continues. “No one is sure where they come from, and they use strange rituals to worship Pholtus. They mark and scar their skin heavily, and wear black robes. They bear no weapons, claiming only to need the Light of Pholtus to defend themselves. This sort of talk does not sit well with many—it almost seems to be a challenge to the established hierarchy. The fact that Pholtus hasn’t struck them dead has all the wags a-twitter. It’s very scandalous. The whole prison was gossiping about it.”
“And the new prelate?” Heydricus asks.
“He is not one of these outsiders, if that is what you mean. But he is sympathetic to them, and they have become more conspicuous around Wintershiven since he ascended to the High Seat.”
Heydricus nods to himself. “Lucius, why don’t you get to Wintershiven, and tell us what you can find out. In the meantime, I want to see and be seen in Liberated Tenh before winter sets in. We need to know who needs food, and we need them to know who is going to get it to them.”
“No need to be concerned with winter,” Prisantha says shyly. “I can teleport the two of us anywhere we need to go, no matter the weather.”
“What about a retinue?” Heydricus asks. “I want to be seen with Flan priests—the ones who talk about ethics and tradition.”
“Allistur’s faithful,” Tau says.
“That’s them. I want people to see that the old gods are back in Tenh, that the old faiths are welcomed. I want to foster that old-time Tenha spirit.”
“I could bring a few priests,” Prisantha sighs. “But not too many.”
“Just me and a few priests,” Heydricus smiles. “That’s all we need.”
“Take a bard,” Lucius says. “Think about it. What do people do in the middle of winter? They sit around at the inn and get drunk. Drunks love bards. Bring a bard, it’ll make you popular.”
“That’s a great idea,” Heydricus muses. “Bards, a priest, and the Lord of Tenh.”
“I’ll prepare the itinerary,” Mialec says, her hands on her hips. “This is going to be a nightmare.”
Lucius stares at her.
“Logistically,” she clarifies.
“I’ll handle the logistics,” Prisantha says sweetly.
-----
“I know someone in Chendl who can resurrect Regda.” Heydricus has his Serious Face on. After a full evening of searching, Jepso Crim finally turned up in the library. With a candlestick. “Black looks good on you,” Heydricus adds as an aside.
“You . . . you do?” the wizard’s face compresses and expands, then compresses again as he struggles to grasp this dangled hope. Jespo Crim is a man who spends much of his inner life waiting for the punchline. “It does?”
“Hell yes, and sort of. Remember Belvor’s buddy—Malwyn the Pelorite? We’ve been talking, and he agreed to resurrect Regda for you, provided you pony up a donation.”
“Anything!” Jespo gasps delightedly. His face finally relaxes as it all sinks in. Maybe, just maybe, there is some justice in this world for anemic conjurers after all. Jespo glides on air to pack for his journey, and is so excited he forgets to take off his black robes.
81—No funerals are final.
Heydricus frets as his wounds are bound. This is going to be bad. The Pholtans are going to stay pissed. Of course, they probably won’t do anything about it until after their evening prayers, so no use worrying about it now. That’s like stabbing the food taster, as Lucius would say. Of course, on the other hand, Pholtus is the kind of god who would send an army of constructs to avenge a slight, and if there’s one thing that the Liberators aren’t equipped to fight, it’s constructs.
On the third hand, He’s pretty sure he’s got those things’ number—Tritherion grants a spell that should align his weapon to burn right through their Axiomatic hides, but Heydricus has never bothered to try it out. He is sure, however, that Tritherion won’t be all stingy with it when the time comes. That’s not Tritherion’s style. The spirit of the law is what counts for Tritherion. That is, the spirit would count if Tritherion had a law, which he doesn’t—Tritherion’s teachings are more like general guidelines, or really good advice from a wise and worldly mentor. But as every Tritherionite knows, it’s the Spirit of the Advice that counts: Live free, and crush those who would oppress you. Revenge taken justly is the holiest of sacraments.
Heydricus is torn from his musings by the arrival of Nevond Nevnend’s highest-ranking clerics. As they tend to the wounded, he reflects upon all the clerics he has known; Aelniir, Ahlana, Gnomer, Keriann, Augustin, Halrond, Tau, Dabus. These priests, scurrying from adventurer to adventurer try hard, he thinks, but they are no Dabus. As he admits this, he feels a nearly heretical twinge of sadness. Dabus is in a Better Place . . . hell, it’s the Best Place, but Heydricus can’t get past the nagging suspicion that it’s not the Right Place for his former companion. As he watches Jespo cry, gently consoled by Lucius, Heydricus muses that no matter which side of the Law/Chaos axis Tau decides to get with, he’s never going to be a Dabus . . .
Lucius consoling Jespo?
Heydricus interrupts Lucius’ whispered monologue. The rogue looks up innocently and says, “I got this one H., you better go make sure the other wizards are ready. Pholtans are comin’.”
Heydricus pulls Lucius away from the grieving wizard by the arm. “Stay out of Crim’s head, Lucius.”
“What, I can’t console a friend?” Lucius is laughing. He leans in close. “The Pholtans have to come, Heydricus. We have the bodies of their bosses. Law-and-order types can’t stand it when high-ups don’t get a proper funeral.” Lucius seems inordinately pleased with himself. “Here’s the plan. We dimensional anchor the center of the keep against teleportation but not divination—we want them to know where to go. Then, they have to teleport to the outside of the keep, and fight their way in. Your flunkies will wear them down a little. Not a lot, but enough. I’ve got some traps in mind. By the time they make it to our rooms, we take ‘em. Blood bath, rinse, repeat.”
But Heydricus has moved on. “Cocraine! How much do you know about international law?”
-----
The peace initiative seems to be a success. Regda’s corpse and her gear are wished into Prisantha’s waiting arms, even as the mortal remains of Sir Mathor and Sir Amara are teleported to the High Prelate’s personal suite. Within hours, the new Prelate’s servants have spread the word—it’s a miracle! Praise be to Pholtus, the Magistrates are alive! Within days, both men are back on the job, and none the worse for wear, although perhaps a bit more . . . severe with their judgments than usual. (A blacker spot in an already very black field, to be sure, but the size of the distinction is small condolence to the remainder of the month’s heretical docket.)
-----
“There is a splinter group within the Wintershiven hierarchy,” Tau says. “My companion was privy to many of their secrets.”
“I’m really sorry about him,” Prisantha says, patting Tau’s hand.
Lucius affects a casual air, and spears a first-frost apple with the tip of his dirk. “No sh-t,” he says paying full attention for the first time this morning. “Splinter group of Pholtans? Is that even possible?”
Mialec is taking minutes, as she often does. No one ever consults them, but she takes them down just in case. Jespo Crim refuses to leave his chambers, but all of the other Liberators are present.
“They are foreigners, outsiders,” Tau continues. “No one is sure where they come from, and they use strange rituals to worship Pholtus. They mark and scar their skin heavily, and wear black robes. They bear no weapons, claiming only to need the Light of Pholtus to defend themselves. This sort of talk does not sit well with many—it almost seems to be a challenge to the established hierarchy. The fact that Pholtus hasn’t struck them dead has all the wags a-twitter. It’s very scandalous. The whole prison was gossiping about it.”
“And the new prelate?” Heydricus asks.
“He is not one of these outsiders, if that is what you mean. But he is sympathetic to them, and they have become more conspicuous around Wintershiven since he ascended to the High Seat.”
Heydricus nods to himself. “Lucius, why don’t you get to Wintershiven, and tell us what you can find out. In the meantime, I want to see and be seen in Liberated Tenh before winter sets in. We need to know who needs food, and we need them to know who is going to get it to them.”
“No need to be concerned with winter,” Prisantha says shyly. “I can teleport the two of us anywhere we need to go, no matter the weather.”
“What about a retinue?” Heydricus asks. “I want to be seen with Flan priests—the ones who talk about ethics and tradition.”
“Allistur’s faithful,” Tau says.
“That’s them. I want people to see that the old gods are back in Tenh, that the old faiths are welcomed. I want to foster that old-time Tenha spirit.”
“I could bring a few priests,” Prisantha sighs. “But not too many.”
“Just me and a few priests,” Heydricus smiles. “That’s all we need.”
“Take a bard,” Lucius says. “Think about it. What do people do in the middle of winter? They sit around at the inn and get drunk. Drunks love bards. Bring a bard, it’ll make you popular.”
“That’s a great idea,” Heydricus muses. “Bards, a priest, and the Lord of Tenh.”
“I’ll prepare the itinerary,” Mialec says, her hands on her hips. “This is going to be a nightmare.”
Lucius stares at her.
“Logistically,” she clarifies.
“I’ll handle the logistics,” Prisantha says sweetly.
-----
“I know someone in Chendl who can resurrect Regda.” Heydricus has his Serious Face on. After a full evening of searching, Jepso Crim finally turned up in the library. With a candlestick. “Black looks good on you,” Heydricus adds as an aside.
“You . . . you do?” the wizard’s face compresses and expands, then compresses again as he struggles to grasp this dangled hope. Jespo Crim is a man who spends much of his inner life waiting for the punchline. “It does?”
“Hell yes, and sort of. Remember Belvor’s buddy—Malwyn the Pelorite? We’ve been talking, and he agreed to resurrect Regda for you, provided you pony up a donation.”
“Anything!” Jespo gasps delightedly. His face finally relaxes as it all sinks in. Maybe, just maybe, there is some justice in this world for anemic conjurers after all. Jespo glides on air to pack for his journey, and is so excited he forgets to take off his black robes.
CrusadeDave
First Post
(contact) said:
(contact) said:
(contact) said:
I hope Tau gets with the program. This party needs a Cleric. Badly. If this keeps up, the party won't be able to kick as much *** and grind it under their boot heels, as we're used to seeing them. And that would be a shame.
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